A Slightly Different Fifth Year
by Azraeos
Summary: ON HIATUS: Harry recieves a letter delivered by a cockatoo, stating that a member of his famliy is alive. Will Harry discover who it is and why they've been hidden from him? Alternate Book Five.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter at all. J.K. Rowling does.

A/N: This story begins three weeks into the summer holidays of Harry's fifth year. He has just completed the Tri Wizard Tournament. This will be an AU.

**Chapter One – The Letter**

It was a warm, drowsy sort of a day in the front garden at number 4 Private Drive. This was a good thing, as it had been tremendously hot and dry three weeks previously. Even now Harry could see the evidence of three weeks of heat and sun. The grass, once the envy of the Buckingham Palace Gardens, was now strained and yellow, and he could see the dry earth poking out in large patches here and there. He thought it looked as though the ground had gotten chicken pox.

On the drive Uncle Vernon's new company car had become a magnet for dry dirt. Harry, having nothing better to do, had even written _wash me_ on it. Not that he had become lazy over the holidays, but rather, he, along with everybody else, couldn't be bothered doing anything because of the heat.

Harry had decided to take advantage of this one day of pleasant weather to lounge about outside under the Dursley's living room window and hopefully try to listen in on the afternoon news. The Dursleys had become suspicious when Harry, fresh from his fourth year at Hogwarts, started taking an interest in the news. Harry had begun reading Uncle Vernon's newspapers after he'd finished with them, scanning the pages for any unusual or wizardly type murders that might be Voldemort related.

The Dursleys, seeing Harry doing something so normal as reading, had instantly become wary and had forbidden him to touch any of Uncle Vernon's newspapers again. Harry was then forced to scrounge through the bin like a cat in order to find anything out. Unfortunately for Harry, Dudley (who couldn't be bothered doing anything when his favourite television program was on) had (unluckily enough, for the first time) been bothered to turn his head to look out of the window and had seen Harry at it.

After that Uncle Vernon had padlocked the bin. And Harry, who usually took the rubbish out in the first place, was forbidden to go near it. Now Uncle Vernon was the soul carrier of the trash. After asking Dudley of course, but to no avail because Dudley had had a tantrum and chucked his new boxing gloves through the window. Harry had had to clean up the glass.

Harry had been forced to go to extreme measures to find out the news because no one in the wizarding world seemed fit to inform him of anything. It seemed that he had written hundreds of letters to his friends and Sirius asking what was happening with Voldemort, but all he'd gotten back in return was something like "_Can't tell you now, too risky_." or other such nonsense. Needless to say, this hadn't turned out too well on Harry's angry-metre, which had skyrocketed to about 86.5 per cent.

Now Harry was lying on his back between the Dursleys house and Aunt Petunia's begonia bushes, with the back of his hand over his brow. The news had just ended and there was nothing there that seemed too suspicious. Unless he counted that turtle some million heir had lost. But unless Voldemort had invented a killing potion in which he needed grated turtle shell for . . . Harry doubted it.

Harry rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, quietly, because the Dursleys were still in the lounge, and went to crawl out from his hiding place. Just as Harry reached the edge of Aunt Petunia's garden and the safe zone, there was a loud "CRAAAAWK!" and a swoosh of wings and a letter dropped onto the ground near him. Harry looked up in time to see, of all things, a large black cockatoo with a bright red cowlick fly overhead and out of sight. Vaguely he could hear Aunt Petunia screeching, and Uncle Vernon calling with the customary "BOY!"

Harry ignored them and observed the letter. It was, perhaps, the oddest-looking letter he had ever received. It was black and shiny as boot polish, and smelled of something that could have been watermelon, but Harry wasn't sure. He quickly stood up and pocketed it just as Uncle Vernon stormed through the front door peering around private drive with his beady eyes, which stopped on Harry.

"What the devil are you doing boy? I told you to control that ruddy bird!"

He was whispering, but loudly, and his face had gone puce and his moustache was bristling.

Harry felt it was appropriate to defend his owl.

"It wasn't Hedwig, it was a cockatoo!"

Uncle Vernon must of thought this was joke because for a moment his face showed confusion and disbelief. But he got over that quickly enough and ordered Harry to come inside and up to his room. Harry did so quickly, because it seemed as if Uncle Vernon had forgot Harry would have a letter, and he wasn't keen on reading it in front of the Durselys, which Uncle Vernon generally made him do.

In his room Harry sat on his bed and took the letter from out of his jeans pocket, admiring the gold embossed S in the corner. Harry was sure that this letter was from Sirius. He was the only one who had sent him letters with large exotic birds before. Admittedly, he had never sent a cockatoo to deliver anything. Harry tried to guess which countries cockatoo's came from. He settled on the Amazon and pried opened the letter. It was very handsomely written with gold ink settled on a black background.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sure Dumbledore and the rest have told you that the only blood relatives you have left on your mother's side are the Dursleys. This, at least, is partly true. But has anyone ever explained about your dad's side? Talk to Dumbledore about it would you? I'll be seeing you soon._

_Elizabeth._

Harry read the letter once more, than five more times. "Well it's certainly vague," he said after picking his jaw up of the floor.

His stomach felt as though a trapeze artist was performing flips in it. He had a thousand questions. Who was Elizabeth? What other family did he have on his dad's side? And he couldn't forget the hint about the family on his mum's side. Who was this person who seemed to know him and Dumbledore? She seemed very relaxed about the whole thing and sort of nonchalant. As if she didn't care very highly for "_Dumbledore and the rest."_

After his initial excitement wore off, Harry began to feel that hot prickly anger that he had been stewing in all summer. Why wasn't he told about anything? Why hadn't Dumbledore mentioned he had family besides the Dursley's? Harry picked up the letter again, which he had dropped in his shock. It said she would be seeing him soon.

Suddenly, Harry was filled with the kind of determination that made it possible for him to chase after the philosophers stone. He went over to his desk, pulled out a spare bit of parchment and his quill, and opened a fresh bottle of ink. He dipped his quill into the ink . . . and paused. He had never written a letter to Dumbledore before. And he didn't know quite how to word this one. He didn't want to offend Dumbledore, even though he had lied to Harry. How should he write a letter asking why Dumbledore had lied to him? How would he go about asking who Elizabeth was? After a couple of drafts, Harry finally settled on the right one.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I received a letter today telling me I had family besides the Dursleys. Do I? The person who wrote the letter addressed herself as Elizabeth and she seemed as if she knew you and me personally. Who is she? She said she would see me soon and that you could explain._

_Harry Potter._

Harry sealed up the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg. He stroked her soft wings with the back of his hand and kissed her softly on her tawny beak. She was the only friend from the magical world he'd had this summer.

"Give this to Professor Dumbledore girl, then wait for his reply."

She hooted softly before gently biting his nose then swooping out of the window. Harry watched until he couldn't see the snowy head any longer, then he slumped on his bed. The millions of questions he had buzzing around his head, combined with the warm, drowsy weather, gave way to a pleasant sleep.

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Albus Dumbledore was currently sitting at a table in the dining room of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. The place wasn't what anyone would call welcoming. It still bore the signs of a decade of built up cobwebs and dust. Dark artefacts, comparable to the family that lived there at one point, were littered around the house like garbage, and it wasn't unlikely to find yourself trodding on one and continuing the day in a trance-like state, or getting the urge to murder the next person that came along. Albus had had this happen to him just that morning, but as he was a powerful wizard he was able to counteract the curse. Despite all this though, the house was obviously made by money.

Beneath the dust and cobwebs lay rich carpeted floors and thick mahogany wood. The beds in all the many rooms were polished four posters and the beheaded elf heads in the corridor certainly showed that the family who lived there previously were of high wizard blood. Overall, Albus thought, Number 12 Grimmauld Place let off a feeling of gloom and despair. Not exactly the right atmosphere to place the order of the defenders of light, but it was the most secure.

Sitting around the same table as the esteemed headmaster were Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. (The latter sitting as far away opposite as it was possible to sit from the former.) The four men were discussing (or as in Sirius's and Snape's case with underlying insults) the current predicament in the Wizarding World; namely the Ministry and their refusal to believe the Dark Lord was back. And any discussion concerning the Dark Lord would, inevitably, soon turn to one Harry Potter and his connection _to_ the Dark Lord and what could be done to help that.

Basically, they were discussing what they always discussed. The really real discussion would take place at the meeting of the Order members that night. This discussion would include how the boy-who-lived was holding up (as Dumbledore had placed solitary watchers from the Order to guard the boy day and night), and any information on the Dark Lord and how it could be counteracted or used to the Order's advantage.

The house would also play host to nearly all of the Weasely brood (save the third eldest) and one of the best friend's of the sixth youngest. They would be living there until the end of the summer, at which point they would go to school. This will be a relief on certain members of the order (namely the Weasely parents) as this group of adolescents are curious and nosey and will try anything to find out information from the order, even using the Weasely twins' new product the Extendable Ears, at which point Molly Weasely will find out, shout like a banshee, then confiscate them.

The four men's discussion had now mellowed somewhat (due to the fact that the problem with the ministry's incompetence had been dissected so much already, that there wasn't anything to say about it anymore) and Albus was enjoying debating the current flavour of the new Bertie Botts Bean with his companions, who weren't brave enough to taste the offered sweet, which now lay seemingly innocently in the middle of the table. There was also a silent debate in the three men's heads of the whether the headmaster was, in fact, certifiable, as they were of the opinion that more important things were afoot, and that it wasn't the time to discuss every flavour sweets. (Though, Sirius and Snape would choke if they ever realised they were of the same mind)

Snape, desperate to steer the conversation from the debate of the flavour of the bean (which Albus was trying to get them to taste) took the first opportunity when Albus choked on a tea-soaked biscuit and started hacking, (as old men are want to do) at which point Snape mentioned "Potter" and in the same breath "like his arrogant father" and the debate escalated into a full blown argument that produced Remus holding onto the back of Sirius's shirt as he tried to jump the table in order to get at Snape.

In all the commotion, not one of the three men noticed a beautiful snowy owl come soaring down the staircase and land on the corner of the table next to Albus (who had stopped coughing) and stuck out her leg for Albus to dispose of the letter. Albus's face showed only brief surprise before untying the letter and ordering the men to shut up. (In an Albus Dumbledorish sort of way, of course.)

The three men quieted once they realised Harry's owl had joined them at the table, and they all waited in silence as Albus read the letter. They each noticed the shock followed by the sombre look on Albus's face. But before any of them could question Albus about the contents of the letter, the man shot up with an agility that belied his age, and walked from the room. Sirius's shouts of "Unfair!" and "I'm his Godfather!" following him out.

Sirius was sitting with his hands clenched on the table when Albus walked in a minute later with a small folded piece of parchment, which he tied to Hedwig's leg before she flew out of the room.

"What was in the letter?" Sirius asked the headmaster through gritted teeth. "I'm his godfather, I have a right to know if he's having a problem."

Snape opened his mouth, most likely to make some base comment, but he didn't get the opportunity.

"It is nothing to concern yourself with Sirius. It was a minor problem with his new booklist which I have now sorted out."

Sirius looked disbelieving and was about to tell the headmaster so when he said, "Now, if you will excuse me gentlemen, I have some Hogwarts business to go about. Do try to behave won't you?"

He stared at the three men over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, making them fidget uncomfortably, before he swooped out of the room, his gold-star cloak with midnight blue setting trailing behind him.

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Harry had snoozed the rest of the afternoon away and was now awoken by a loud hoot. Hedwig was perched on the edge of his desk clutching a letter in her beak and looking indignant. She had been trying to get his attention for a while now. The letter didn't look particularly fat, to Harry's disappointment. He was disappointed even more when he read the thing. There were only eight words written on it.

_I will come and collect you tomorrow morning._

Harry supposed this wasn't the sort of thing you'd talk about in a letter. But he was happy he'd finally be leaving the Dursleys. He only wished Dumbledore would have been more specific. When tomorrow? He dreaded telling the Dursleys that his headmaster would pick him up tomorrow, and on top of that not knowing when he would come.

Harry folded up the letter and placed it in on his desk. He was hungry, but he doubted the Dursleys would feed him anything now as they'd probably already had dinner. He settled on eating some of Hagrid's treacle fudge that he'd hidden under the loose floorboard under his bed a few days ago. It was hot and stuffy under there, and Harry found that this had loosened up the fudge somewhat and it wasn't as hard as usual. Harry ate about a half a dozen before lying back on his bed.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

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And check out my other story, "The Black Wizard" on the Book Crossovers Link.


	2. A New Country

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Thankyou to my reviewers.

**Chapter Two – A New Country**

The morning after receiving Dumbledore's letter, Harry was found sitting at the bottom of the stairs beside Hedwig in her cage, in a pair of Dudley's old raggly jeans and a plain shirt, his trunk lying next to him, and his wand in his waistband. It was eleven thirty and there was _still_ no sign of Dumbledore. The Dursleys were agitated and nervous, particularly Dudley as he had been on the receiving end of a wizard's spell twice now. Just last summer when the Weasley's had come to collect Harry, Fred and George had found it amusing to feed Dudley some sweets from their new stock of joke products. Dudley's tongue had managed to grow several purple metres before Uncle Vernon allowed Mr. Weasely to perform the counter charm.

The Dursleys hadn't been too pleased when Harry informed them his headmaster was coming to collect him. They had been even _less_ pleased when Harry told them he didn't know what specific time his headmaster would come, but that he was certain he'd come some time in the morning.

The Dursleys were now scrunched up in the lounge watching the fireplace. Uncle Vernon had asked Harry how the headmaster would come. He had gone purple with suppressed anger when Harry told him he didn't know. Privately, Harry thought Dumbledore would come by floo, as Harry was too young to apparate and there was no other way to go, except by portkey, but they had to be registered at the ministry and Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore wasn't too keen on the Ministry monitoring the boy-who-lived's progress, so Harry was certain they wouldn't be travelling by portkey. So that only left floo powder.

_But where was he?_

The morning had almost passed, and Harry was becoming a bit anxious. Perhaps Dumbledore had forgotten? Perhaps he was so busy with Voldemort problems, that it had simply slipped his mind that he had to collect the boy-who-lived from his horrible relatives house? Or perhaps he'd just made a detour at a muggle sweet shop to get a packet of sherbet lemons? Harry snorted at the image of Dumbledore in his wizardly robes counting out some muggle money while asking the pimply shop employee what the little bits of green paper were.

Harry got up to go wait for Dumbledore by the fireplace but before he even reached the bottom of the stairs there was a sharp crack followed by a shrill screech. Harry rushed as fast as he could to the lounge, whipping out his wand as he ran . . . and stopped at the scene before him.

'_Well, at least it isn't as worse as last summer,' _Harry thought dimly

Dumbledore, looking decidedly perplexed and out of place in his long maroon robes in the Dursely's orderly living room, was standing near the window with his wand in his hand. Uncle Vernon was helping Aunt Petunia off of the ground, who, Harry assumed, had fallen off of the couch in her shock at seeing Dumbledore appear out of thin air. Uncle Vernon was cursing and waving his beefy fist at Dumbledore as he stood in front of a still shrieking Aunt Petunia, and Dudley was fast waddling out of the room, knocking into Harry's shoulder in his haste to get away from the old wizard.

Uncle Vernon was still shouting.

"How dare you threaten my family? How dare you wave that stick about? I'll have none of your freakishness in my house!"

Dumbledore ignored Uncle Vernon and turned to Harry, still looking a bit confused.

"Good morning Harry. How has your summer been?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Good. Do you have your things packed?"

"Hang on," Harry began, suddenly suspicious. "How do I know your really Dumbledore?"

The old wizard offered Harry a small smile, his eyes twinkling.

"Your Patronus is prongs."

Harry relaxed his wand arm. "How are you professor?" he asked.

"I'm very well Harry. And I must commend you on your vigilance. Alastor Moody will be most pleased when I inform him of it. Now, have you got your things? I'm anxious to get going. Still have stuff to buy."

Harry nodded and went to get his trunk and Hedwig, briefly wondering if he hadn't been on to something with that whole sherbet lemon idea.

Harry walked back to the lounge, his trunk dragging behind him. The Dursleys had gone. Harry assumed they'd scarped off to the kitchen to wait out Dumbledore's visit.

Dumbledore had now moved next to the mantelpiece over the fireplace.

"Very hospitable family you have Harry."

Harry grinned. He found he couldn't really stay angry with the old wizard.

"Where are we going exactly sir?" he asked. Dumbledore was now examining the unmoving photographs on the Dursley's walls, not even looking up at Harry as he answered.

"All in good time Harry. All in good time."

"Well, how are we getting there?"

Dumbledore turned from perusing a particularly nasty picture of an eleven-year-old Dudley on his new racing bike. Harry had never been able to see the bike in the picture, due to the fact that Dudley's bulk was overlapping it.

"We will be using this." Dumbledore produced an empty chocolate frog packet from under his robes.

"Er . . . I thought portkeys had to be registered with the ministry?"

"They do." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But I made my own. Right now! This will activate in exactly (he checked the watch on his wrist) twenty-nine seconds. Best to touch it now. Make sure your holding on to your trunk. I'll take Hedwig." He lifted the cage. "And three . . . two . . . one . . ."

Harry felt the uncomfortable, yet familiar jerk in his navel and the nauseating spin following after, dimly registering that the last time he felt this way he had just escaped Voldemort and his Death Eaters while clutching a dead Cedric to his body.

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Harry landed painfully on his bottom, his trunk spilling out of his hand and toppling over beside him. He could hear Hedwig squawk and flap in the cage Dumbledore was holding. A gnarled hand appeared in front of his face and Harry took it, pulling himself up and brushing the sand from his jeans. He turned and gazed open-mouthed at his surroundings.

They had landed in the middle of a small sandy beach. It was deserted. Most likely because it was night time, which led Harry to believe they were on the other side of the world. The sea looked big and black and oddly mystical in the night and under the glare of the full moon. The waves crashing on the shore and the weather-bitten rocks sent salty spray spattering in all directions, and Harry could taste it on his lips. On Harry's direct right there was a rough, hazardous cliff face and on Harry's far left there was another one, but it appeared to be less rocky and more green. He could just make out a muggle lighthouse plopped on it in the distance. Behind them were sand dunes that Harry felt could topple over at any minute and suffocate them in a grisly, un-breathable mesh.

Harry was in awe. He had never had time to appreciate the beauty of the sea.

"Where are we sir?"

Dumbledore appeared to be searching for something important in his robes because he didn't look up from his task as he answered Harry.

"We are in Australia. About a twenty minute broom-flight from Sydney."

"Australia." Harry repeated. He'd never even been out of the UK and now he was on the largest island on earth.

"Yes, Australia. There is a small wizarding community just over these cliffs." He pointed to Harry's right with one hand, the other was still rummaging through his robes. "There is a muggle city a little further inland over those dunes which is called Newcastle, I believe. We will be visiting Wrigadoogong, the wizarding settlement that is, as soon as I find . . . "

"What are we doing here sir?" Harry asked Dumbledore who was now muttering.

"I was sure I put it in the third pocket on the right, or was that the left? What?" He looked up at Harry. "Forgive me Harry. Yes. What are we doing here? It's a surprise. But first we have to get settled in before anything is revealed. And while I'm searching for my broom, why don't you take that lovely Firebolt from out of your trunk? And while you're at it you'd best put on your robe, you're looking a might chilly. It is winter here after all." Then he went back to poking around in his robes.

It was only then that Harry noticed he had developed goose pimples from the cold.

Harry opened his trunk and found his school robe scrunched between a half eaten box of Hagrid's rock cakes and a potions essay he hadn't finished yet. He nestled into his robe, feeling the coldness evaporate almost instantly. Then he digged through his stuff and pulled out his Firebolt, which was on the bottom. He also released Hedwig from her cage. He watched her stretch her wings for a while until she flew over the cliff and out of sight.

"Here we are!"

Harry turned in time to see Dumbledore pull out a miniature broomstick from out of his left boot. He gave it a tap with his wand and it grew to normal-size. It was very raggedy. The bristles stuck out at odd angles and it looked as though it would snap in half if Dumbledore sat on it. Harry thought that the headmaster must have nicked one of the school's old brooms from out of the shed. The image that inspired had him snorting, which he hastily turned into a cough at the last second.

Dumbledore mounted the broomstick and looked over at Harry.

"Ready Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded and threw a leg over his Firebolt. Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and they shrunk to golf ball-size. Harry picked them up and pocketed them.

"Off we go then!" said Dumbledore, and he hovered unsteadily a moment before lifting gently into the sky.

It was a strange sight for Harry to see Dumbledore on a broom. Somehow it didn't entirely fit the venerable old wizard. It seemed a bit undignified for someone like Dumbledore to travel via a ratty tatty broomstick. It was certainly something Harry would never forget.

The Boy-Who-Lived watched amusedly as the headmaster's beard split in two and streamed behind him, mangling with his hair as they whizzed over the cliff. His twinkling violet cloak flapped around his long dragon-hide boots in a wavy formation that looked rather dashing, surprisingly. His purple wizards hat had long absconded off his head and was currently floating somewhere in the pacific. As he joined the old wizard's side, Harry also noticed, with a start, that Dumbledore was wearing goggles. The kind Harry had seen in all those muggle airplane movies from the forties.

Thinking that the Headmaster was, in actual fact, even battier than he'd first assumed, Harry turned his attention to the view before him. Coupled with the smells of the sea and the cool, refreshing wind on his face, the sight below him was enough to make him gasp.

He could see what appeared to be many holes carved into a sheer and very great cliff face that hung precariously over the sea. As they dipped closer to the formation Harry could see that the holes were actually tunnels, extending deep into the cliff face. They were emitting a faint pale, bluish light, that, Harry realised as they arrived at the cliff, were actually millions of phosphorescent lichen that appeared to be attached to the ceilings of the caves. Harry could make out people and what appeared to be furniture in the tunnels. Then he understood; they were houses.

Harry had no doubt that this was the Australian equivalent of Hogsmede. It was the most magnificent scene he had ever come across in the wizarding world. Just looking at it made Harry feel as though he were in a surreal environment. Then he reminded himself that the wizarding world was just that at times.

Dumbledore turned downwards on his broom and Harry followed. They travelled down along the cliff face, (which was very high) down passed the many levels, which the wizarding settlement seemed to be made up of. Harry caught glimpses of what appeared to be a bustling market place taking up an entire level on its own just above the sea. Harry assumed Dumbledore would stop here because there was nowhere else to go, but he continued on, and for one blind moment Harry felt as though they were going to crash into the water, but Dumbledore jerked to a stop just before they did, Harry following suit.

He was just about to ask Dumbledore what they were going to do next, when the wizard shot off like an exploding cork, entering (what Harry could see) another lichen-infested tunnel hidden in an enclave just below the market place. The sea had already flooded most of it, so that it only appeared as a half tunnel.

Harry nervously followed Dumbledore into the tunnel, eyeing the ravenous water below him with narrowed eyes. Still, he had to appreciate the scene. The lichen also appeared to be growing at the bottom of the tunnel, and the eerie light shone through the water in patches (rather like Aunt Petunia's garden), revealing the many sea-creatures residing there, one of which appeared to be a shark (Harry hastily flew a little upwards at this realisation) others were of the likes Harry had never seen before; wizardly creatures, he assumed.

They had been flying for a full five minutes in the cave when Dumbledore finally stopped, landing on a small outcrop of rock that jutted out of the water like a large stepping stone, enough to fit ten people. Harry landed next to him, staring apprehensively at the water in case there were any sharks lurking about.

"Now Harry, make sure you have your footing. There are worse things than Carcharhiniformes in the Pond of Wrigadoogong."

"Carcharhini . . .?" Harry asked, now completely convinced that Dumbledore had acquired Old-Cootness Syndrome.

"A muggle word for a type of shark." Dumbledore explained after giving Harry's perplexed face a thorough look at.

Harry continued to stare into the headmaster's twinkling eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd got the impression that Dumbledore knew everything.

"We'll be going up there," he continued, pointing straight above them to a narrow tunnel in the ceiling that was almost vertical. It, too, was infested with lichens. "In case you are wondering, we just used the side entrance to get to the wizarding settlement."

"Side entrance?" asked Harry in puzzlement. "You mean there are more?"

"Certainly, certainly. There is also the back entrance which we will be using tomorrow." He pointed straight ahead of them where the tunnel extended even further into the darkness. "The front entrance is where you just use your broom to fly in through the tunnels in the cliff face. No doubt you saw them as we were up in the air? And before you ask, yes we could have used that route, but we would have had to pay something like, ten galleons I think, to pass through. And I don't especially fancy having to search through my robes to collect all the excess money, do you?"

"Er . . ." said Harry.

"Right!" said Dumbledore

"Sorry sir, I just have a question," Harry began.

Dumbledore looked expectantly at him.

"Has there ever been any accidents where people fell out of the tunnels?"

He'd been wondering this ever since he saw them.

"Ah," said Dumbledore in that ready-to-lecture mode. "That's one of the wonders of magic. You see the reason why we would have had to pay ten galleons each is because there is an invisible barrier that covers the tunnels. You pay the money, or rather, you place the money in a special slot next to the tunnel, which than lifts the barrier so you can pass through. If you ask me it's a bit of a . . . how do young people say it nowadays? Ah yes, a bit of a rip off."

Harry grinned.

"So, no, there have not been any unfortunate mishaps. Oh, almost forgot! There is also a bottom entrance." He glanced down at his feet.

"Bottom entrance?" Harry prodded.

"Well, you are standing on it." Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry looked down at the rock.

"Well, it's not technically an entrance to the settlement," Dumbledore continued, moving his foot experimentally on the rock. "It's only an entrance to a motel, you see. A kind of underwater resort for people like us; tourists, I mean. That is where we will be staying tonight after I gather my ingredients. So off to The Wormhole then?"

Dumbledore hopped back on his broom, Harry following. As they floated gently in the air,

Harry asked: "The Wormhole?"

"A marketplace on the floor above. You most likely saw it."

"Yea." Harry replied, thinking about the huge bustling shopping area that extended the entire bottom of the cliff.

"Right then, off we go!"

Dumbledore flew up first, Harry following after. It wasn't a tight squeeze, but at the same time it was enough to make people who were claustrophobic start panicking a bit.

It was a short flight. They'd entered a sort of holding area where an elevator sat on their right to take people from level to level; and The Wormhole was situated right in front. In fact the name "Wormholes" might have been a more accurate description of the area. About ten different tunnels were squashed into the place. All huge and smoothly sanded with the beautiful lichen light gently illuminating the area, except for one.

There was a dark, dank, smelly, jagged, and in all other words frankly _evil_ tunnel that sat directly to their left. It certainly gave Knockturn Alley a run for its nastiness. Harry could not see the contents of the tunnel, but didn't particularly have any desire to do so anyway as he was convinced it was a place where Dark Arts worshippers went for afternoon tea.

"Harry. It would be prudent for you to wait out here or perhaps explore The Wormhole while I gather the ingredients I need." Dumbledore motioned to the dark tunnel. "I do not believe it would be wise for you to follow either?" He made it sound like a question.

Harry nodded, glad that he was being given a choice.

And so, for half an hour Harry explored The Wormhole. The items and products on display weren't at all different from the ones available at Diagon Alley, except perhaps the pets. When Harry entered a small stall made entirely of leather and shaped like an igloo he found himself in a large pet store. There weren't any owls Harry was familiar with; instead there were only a few small owls, which Harry assumed to be native to Australia. To make up for the owls, there were birds of a different variety.

Cockatoo's, cockatiels, parrots, and magpies of different sizes and colours stared down at Harry from their perches near the ceiling. Harry quickly ran out from under them, in case the birds decided he'd make a good toilet.

The store also played host to many snakes, and all of different breeds. Most of them were grumbling about the poor accommodations. Harry supposed he wouldn't like to be stuck in a squashy glass box with no room to manoeuvre if _he'd_ been a snake. Harry quickly bypassed the serpents because some had been trying to get his attention, and he didn't want the shopkeeper to throw him out if he saw that Harry was a Parselmouth.

Harry had read in _Not So Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: The Fifth Addition_, that Australia was home to literally millions of snakes out in the wild, so it only stood to reason that wizarding Australia would think nothing of keeping them as pets. They probably saw snakes in their own back yards everyday.

Also available to buy was a furry, calf-high creature called a Bunyip. It was oval-shaped and came in blue, green, brown, or black colours with antennas sticking out of its head. Harry leaned in closer to the sign under a particularly shaggy Bunyip's cage.

_The Bunyip is a nocturnal creature that likes to make its home in hollow trees or logs. Its favourite pastime is stealing Easter eggs to keep in stock for winter hibernation. Bunyip males are blue and green, while the females are brown or black. Occasionally there is an exception to this rule and a pink Bunyip is born, but a Bunyip this colour hasn't been seen in almost sixty years. Bunyips are generally extremely fast and agile, can jump to sixteen metres high, and can borrow through hard rock. They are very intelligent and can understand human speech, even if they cannot speak it themselves. A live Bunyip's antenna can be cut off and used as a wand core. (Though, this practice was considered too cruel to perform in recent years, as a Bunyip would be very disadvantaged to lose one of its defence mechanisms, as they don't grow back.) A dead Bunyip's corpse can be harvested and the claws, antennae, and tongue can be used in various restorative potions, while the fur can be used to make attractive hats or coats. It is, in fact, for this very reason that Bunyips are considered endangered species, because vain witches and wizards hunted them nearly to extinction in the last century until a decree was passed in 1905 that outlawed the right to hunt Bunyips for their fur. Bunyips make extremely faithful pets._

Harry was interested; he'd never met such an exotic creature before, even in the wizarding world. He looked up at the Bunyip before him. It was quite small and cuddly looking; like a particularly wonky teddy bear.

"Hey little girl." Harry addressed the sleeping black Bunyip in the cage before him. It yawned exposing polished white teeth, then opened its eyes revealing a spectacular sapphire blue colour. It rubbed its eyes a bit before spotting Harry. It gave a little squeal, and Harry jumped back, afraid he had upset it. But that was not the case because the Bunyip was now jumping up and down excitedly and clapping its hands, making a noise like an inebriated sheep. It was a deep and muffled sound that Harry could only describe as being cute.

Harry walked closer to it, watching as it rattled the bars of the cage. It extended one furry arm through the cage at Harry, staring at him with imploring eyes that he just couldn't resist. He stroked its hand and it started purring.

"I think she likes you."

Harry jumped three feet and whirled around. The shopkeeper, a middle aged man with greying hair and nose to rival Snape's, stood smiling before him.

"Sorry about that mate, didn't mean to scare ya!"

"No, it's alright!" Harry eyed the man, who was currently staring at his head.

"Struth!" he exclaimed, and Harry jumped again, remembering to flatten his fringe.

He waited for the usual gaping-mouth, pointed finger and the cry of "Harry Potter?" that would surely draw the attention of all the shoppers in the area.

"Bugger that!" said the man. "That's quite an ornament you got there! Must be a pain in the arse. Looks old, though. Does it still hurt ya?"

Harry could only gape at the man. Didn't he recognise him?

"Er . . . it only twinges occasionally," he managed, still staring nervously at the shopkeeper.

"Well, that's a pain," he said. "So, you interested?"

"What?"

"Are you interested in purchasing that Bunyip? She seems quite attached to you already. You'd probably leave her heartbroken if you go off now," he implored to Harry, who was sure this was only a sales technique said in order to get him to spend his money.

"I'm not sure we would suit," he told the shopkeeper, who looked a bit disappointed. "You see I'm from England. I'm not sure she would adapt to the climate."

The shopkeeper laughed; a belly rumbling sound that reverberated through the entire shop. "Oh don't worry about that! They're very capable of adapting. Why do ya think they have fur?" He chuckled.

"Well, I'm not really sure . . ."

The shopkeeper developed a pensive look on his face. "Tell ya what!" he said. "How 'bout you come back when you decide? I won't sell her to no one 'till then."

Harry thought about this. If he agreed, it would get the persistent shopkeeper off his back, and also provide him with an opportunity to think about buying the Bunyip, which he wasn't certain he wanted to do just yet.

"Okay," he agreed, finally.

"Great! Be seeing ya!" said the shopkeeper with much enthusiasm. Then he bustled off to attend a customer who just walked through the door.

Harry shook his head bemusedly and turned towards the Bunyip. "I'll probably come back soon," he told her.

She tightened the death grip she had on the cage and made a small noise of protest.

"It'll be alright. We'll see each other again."

The Bunyip shook her head. Her eyes filled. She blinked once and the tears spilled down her furry cheeks.

"No-no. Shh. Don't cry!"

The Bunyip started hiccuping. Harry was becoming alarmed. He hadn't meant to upset her.

"I promise I'll come back soon," he told her.

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes before making a small noise of what Harry thought was agreement. Then she did something completely bizarre, something Harry only associated with humans. She kissed her hand and blew into it. Harry came out of his amazed stupor, and feeling a bit foolish, did the same. This seemed to excite her, as she jumped about in the cage.

"Goodbye," he said, and gave her arm a final pat of farewell. As he walked out of the shop, Harry saw the Bunyip's tiny arm poke out of the cage and gesture in what was an unmistakable wave.

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Review Please. I want to get lots!


	3. The Explanation

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

A/N: I made a mistake when I posted this story. I forgot to put it on the T rating, but I've changed it now, as you can see.

**Chapter Three: The Explanation. **

Harry met Dumbledore coming out of the entrance to the Dark Tunnel. They made small talk while they got their brooms from the holding area. Harry told him about meeting the Bunyip.

"Amazingly resourceful creatures," Dumbledore had said.

He also told him about how the shopkeeper hadn't been able to recognise Harry or his scar, and learned, to his surprise, that he wasn't as famous as he'd thought.

"Voldemort wasn't a threat to any country besides England and to an extent Europe . . . yet! By the other wizarding countries of the world he was something that wasn't their problem, and so didn't bear thinking about. Of course they heard about him and you, but it won't jog their memories straight away," Dumbledore had explained.

Harry was ecstatic. No one here would recognise him. He could walk about wherever he wanted to. He could finally be normal, like everyone else. But then Dumbledore explained that he should still hide his scar behind his fringe as it wasn't certain that he wouldn't be recognised either, and Harry agreed.

They made their way down the tunnel again, descending almost vertically until they reached the stepping-stone; the entrance to the Underwater Wizard Motel.

Dumbledore stamped his foot three times on the rock and said in a clear voice, "The Shellock Upps."

Harry felt a foreboding intrude on his thoughts. A second later he knew was right to feel it because the stone began to sink into the water. Slowly at first, then picking up momentum. He half expected the water to come crashing down on them, but as they sunk into it a sort of bubble erupted from the perimeter of the stone and encircled them, trapping them inside, dry and comfortable, while the water swirled machine-washingly above their heads.

They kept descending, Harry realised that the stone and bubble acted as an underwater transparent elevator. The lichen light on the bottom of the sea floor revealed underwater coves and caverns which, Harry saw, appeared to be inhabited by merfolk, and not like the ones in Hogwarts' lake either. These were beautiful, resembling the mermaid in the painting hanging on the wall in the Prefects bathroom. Newt Scamander did write that prettier mermaids could be found elsewhere in the world.

A couple of mermaids – one blue haired the other blonde – appeared before them, swimming around the bubble and frolicking merrily. Harry noticed their hands were webbed, rather like his had been when he'd eaten that gillyweed. They were very beautiful and ethereal looking in the lichen lighted water.

Harry noticed a peculiar glint in their eyes as they turned their heads towards him. Suddenly they giggled and thrashed their tails, performing flips in the water. They swam right next to the bubble and stared down at Harry. The blonde mermaid kissed the exterior of the bubble and waved girlishly at him. Harry blushed scarlet. Dumbledore pierced them with a stern look and flapped an impatient hand in their direction. They scattered, swimming into the darker waters.

Harry sighed in relief, glad the experience was over. He had felt rather like the anticipated chocolate cheesecake of an extremely bland and disappointing four-course meal under their scrutiny.

The stone finally stopped moving, making a grating sound as it fitted itself into a hole in the ground, as though it were the piece of a puzzle that had been missing. It was pitch dark.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Dumbledore said, sounding put out.

Harry was taken aback. Surely Dumbledore wasn't talking to him? But there was no one else here. He was just about to open his mouth and ask when Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Turn yourselves on, would you? I don't particularly care to trip over my robes in the darkness."

Harry's mouth dropped, though he should have expected it. Slowly, a faint bluish light became visible, shining above them.

_The lichens. _

Along with the light there also came a gentle jabbering, squishy sort of noise, and Harry realised that it originated from the lichens themselves. They were alive! And talking to each other apparently.

"We'll have none of that now," said Dumbledore, staring up at them with his best professor expression. "We are your guests. There is no cause to be rude, is there?"

The jabbering halted immediately.

Dumbledore looked at Harry with self-satisfied sort of smile. "Extremely rude brand of fungi, are magical lichens," he explained. "But easily offended. Follow me Harry."

Harry noticed they were walking in a tunnel. It smelled of seaweed and dampness. The rock was slippery under Harry's shoes. But unlike the other tunnels Harry had been in today, he could see the end of this one, as the lichens grew mould-like along the entire length of the ceiling. There was a large round door, taller and wider than Hagrid, at the base of the tunnel. It was made from the same rock as the material they were walking on.

They stopped before it.

Harry couldn't see any doorhandles, so how were they going to enter?

Dumbledore stepped forward and rapped on the door with his knuckles.

There was a scraping noise as the stone door opened and Harry was hit with a blast of warm, drowsy air. It was extremely inviting.

As they entered, Harry felt his mouth drop for what seemed the thousandth time that night. They had stepped into what look like a primitive, underwater palace. There were a few, entirely round rooms and parlours that conjoined with each other, making up a completely new room in the middle, of which there was a round bar. The resort was constructed of material that appeared to be whitish, marble sand. There were large, roundish windows that looked out into the sea. Harry could make out a couple of mermaid shapes swimming around.

There were a few patrons milling about. A couple looked their way as they stepped in, but seeing nothing of interest except an old man and a rather weedy kid, they turned their attention back to their conversations and drinks.

There was another odd thing Harry noticed about wizarding Australia. Its style of clothing was completely different than in wizarding Britain. Yes the wizards still wore robes, but their's appeared rather like the ancient muggle Roman or Greek style togas than actual 'dresses.' They looked light, cool, and comfortable, because, Harry suspected, the people would need to feel cool and airy in the warm climate of Australia.

"Why don't we get something to eat?" Dumbledore suggested.

Harry's neck grew red as he felt his stomach rumble at that exact moment. Dumbledore smirked a knowing grin and jaunted off to the bar, Harry trotting dutifully behind, his face still holding an expression of awe as he gazed at his surroundings.

Dumbledore chatted to the barkeep (a short, rotund fellow that smelled of raspberries) as Harry settled his gaze on a commotion happening to his right.

In the open doorway of the kitchen a lobster had apparently escaped the constraints of its crate prison and was currently scuttling between the legs of its wardens. For a lobster it was extremely fast and agile. Harry watched as it dodged a stunner, then bypassed a saucepan lid that came bearing down from the hand of a chef. Red and blue sparks shot everywhere as the kitchen staff tried to stop the wily crustacean before it reached the door.

One last shouted "Stupefy!" from the chef, however, didn't manage to dissuade it and only caused a pile of dirty dishes to clatter deafeningly down by the door. The lobster scurried forward, bypassing the dishes and shooting through the doorway, before darting under a nearby table.

Harry thought only one thing as he watched the kitchen staff descend on the lobster, avoiding its clicking pincers, and hoist him into a potato sack; he was not having lobster tonight.

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Harry spooned a last mouthful of the extremely sweet Pavlova cake before leaning back in his seat and taking a deep breath. After three courses he was feeling full and sleepy and wishing that Dumbledore would finally tell him about Elizabeth.

It was almost midnight here, and Harry, despite having a body clock that was telling him it was only three in the afternoon, was almost dozing in his squishy parlour chair. The excitement of the day, he supposed.

Dumbledore had arranged rooms, dinner, and a private parlour for them, (which meant no windows and curious mermaids peering in) and had also paid for everything – to Harry's extreme protest and embarrassment. And now that dinner was over, Harry was feeling anxious, hoping Dumbledore would get on with it.

"Now then Harry," said Dumbledore finally, after taking a gulp of seaweed juice from his goblet (Harry had been too apprehensive to try it) "I expect you want to know who Elizabeth is."

Harry only nodded, wishing Dumbledore would hurry up.

Dumbledore weaved his fingers together and rested them on the wooden table. "I must confess I was surprised and more than a little shocked when I got your owl."

Harry was almost jumping in his seat.

"You see Harry, she wasn't supposed to contact you yet."

Harry felt like yelling _"Who? Who wasn't supposed to contact him yet?"_ but he bit his tongue to stop himself. Dumbledore would explain it eventually, even if Harry died from the anticipation.

"We agreed that after you finished your schooling, only then would your sister reveal her existence to you, because any time before that would be extremely dangerous. But I suppose the return of Voldemort hasted her decision along."

Harry only just managed to keep his jaw from dropping. He had expected a distant cousin or uncle, another godparent perhaps, but not something of this magnitude. He had a sister! He had a sister and nobody told him? Dumbledore knew?

Harry clenched his fingers into his thighs as he felt the horrible twist in his stomach burn all the way up his spine, spreading into his heart. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? Why hadn't Aunt Petunia, or Sirius, or Lupin?

"I understand your anger Harry."

Harry's head shot up and glared at Dumbledore's sorrowful face.

"Before you start yelling, I must tell you that there was a reason you didn't know about your sister and it had everything to do with your family."

Harry felt his brows form into a confused frown.

"I'll start from the beginning. I beg you to listen and not to interrupt unless it is a question that benefits your understanding of this situation."

Dumbledore's old, wise eyes stared at Harry over the top of their spectacles. Harry felt himself nodding.

"Very good then."

Dumbledore took another drink from his goblet, settled it down with a _chink_ on the table, and sighed long and tiredly.

"I suppose it all began in your parents' seventh year at Hogwarts. Your mother became pregnant around the last month of that school year. About three months later they were married, employed, and living in a comfortable house in Godric's Hollow. Five months later, little Elizabeth Potter was born on the 19th of March 1976. A couple of months after that they named Sirius her godfather."

Harry's eyes, which had been staring into Dumbledore's beard, snapped up at this.

"Yes, Sirius is also her godfather, though he doesn't know it."

Harry frowned in confusion.

Dumbledore must have noticed it because he said, "All will be explained shortly. Now, four years after that, they had you Harry."

Dumbledore paused here as if reliving a horrifying event, and probably was. "That was when Death Eaters attacked Hogsmede for the first time. Your parents, sister, and you were there. You and your parents escaped unharmed, Elizabeth was killed."

Harry opened his mouth in disbelief and confusion, but Dumbledore jumped in before he could say anything.

"Or at least, that was what your parents and I decided to tell the world."

Dumbledore stopped here, apparently thinking Harry wanted to say something. He was right

"So, only you and my parents knew Elizabeth was still alive?" he asked.

"Harry, we didn't only know, we were the ones who sent her away."

"Why?" The word exploded out of Harry's mouth in a sort of accusatory groan.

"For her training, Harry. And your family's protection from Voldemort."

Seeing Harry's confusion, Dumbledore began to explain. "Do you know what a Slayer is Harry?"

Harry couldn't see what this bizarre question had to do with his sister but he answered anyway. "Someone who kills people?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, you're thinking of the word slayer in the general sense. I mean the magical creatures, the Chosen Ones, the ones with a birthright ordained from generations previous, and ones who cannot escape their destiny because it is in their blood. Ones with the strength of a troll, the speed of a cheater, and other such supernatural powers. Ones who destroy anything in the dark side because it is unavoidable for them. Ones who, on top of that, are also wizards and witches. "

Harry shook his head, having never heard of magical creatures such as this before. He had a brief image of a Hagrid-like figure bludgeoning Death Eaters with a club.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, staring at him piercingly, "Your sister is one of the Slayers."

Silence.

"Your paternal grandmother was one of the Slayers. Her mother before her was, her mother before her, her grandmother before her, and so on. The Slayer line can skip a generation if the current Slayer has a male child, your father, in this case. But as soon as that male child has a female offspring, she will be the next Slayer. Your sister. "

More silence.

Dumbledore sighed. "The Slayer has always been a witch in your family. So, they were pureblooded of course, never marrying muggles, because their offspring wouldn't be able to handle the extreme power of the Slayer. In other families there have been Slayers that only existed through the male line.

"We do not know much about Slayers, but one thing is certain, it is a hereditary mystical force that the first female child born in your family cannot escape from. When one slayer dies, the next female in your family will inherit the gift. If there are only males in the family at the time, then one of their daughters will be the next Slayer."

Harry took a deep breath. This was too much. His sister was some powerful warrior. His grandmother too. And if Harry ever had a daughter, she could be one as well. It was bad enough discovering he had a long lost sister, only to realise she was already bound to that fate.

"There are only two other current Slayers in the world besides your sister. They both exceed from a male line. So, your family has been the only one to have ever had female Slayers.

No one outside the family is supposed to know this; it is a well-guarded secret that only the other Slayers know of. But your father decided to tell me, to help your sister."

Dumbledore took a drink from his goblet.

"We sent her here Harry, to Australia, to train under the current male slayer. He died about six months ago, leaving his son to inherit the powers and protect the Southeastern hemisphere of the world. He is young yet, only twenty-five. Your sister is nineteen; she doesn't need to be here anymore. She has finished her training. Her area to protect is Europe and Asia. Which is one of the reasons I suspect she contacted you so early. She is ready to come back to England."

Harry had about a million questions buzzing annoyingly through his brain, but the one he asked was perhaps the least informing.

"How do you know her, Sir?"

"I have kept in contact all these years. I've visited her. Told her about you. She was always very anxious to meet you Harry, always asking me if she could see you. But I, in my protection of you, thought it best to wait it out. It seems, though, she has taken that out of my hands."

"Do Sirius and Professor Lupin know?" Harry asked, praying for it not to be true.

Dumbledore looked at him with sorrowful, understanding eyes. "No, they do not. They assumed she died in that Death Eater Raid at Hogsmede all those years ago. They don't even know she is a Slayer. Or that your entire family produced the female line of Slayers either."

They sat in an awkward silence.

Harry thought it best to break it. He wasn't really angry with the Headmaster anymore.

"What's the wizarding world's take on the Slayer? If it's supposed to be a big secret, how does everyone know about Slayers?"

Dumbledore's twinkled. "I'm glad you asked that Harry. You see, to everyone besides the Slayers and their families, they are nothing but a myth. Of course, there are still some wizards who believe in them. I was one of those believers before your father verified it to me. Imagine my shock when James popped in my office one Monday morning, fairly shouting that his daughter was a Slayer."

Harry sniggered.

"Yes, it's rather like in the muggle world how some muggles believe in the extra-terrestrial being, while others do not."

"Do Sirius and Professor Lupin believe in Slayers, Sir?"

"I do not know Harry, I never thought to question them on the subject. Perhaps you will. I have a feeling that the Slayer secret in your family will be a secret no longer."

Harry looked puzzlingly up at Dumbledore, who had a small smile in the corner of his mouth.

"What do mean, Sir?"

"You'll see," said Dumbledore very cryptically before standing up. "Now Harry, it is time to go to bed, I think. Tomorrow you will meet Elizabeth."

Harry grinned broadly as he followed Dumbledore out of the parlour and into another smaller tunnel. They walked passed several rounded doors until they stopped before one that read Room 11.

"This is your room Harry. Sleep well. I know you are excited, but try to get some rest. Oh yes," said Dumbledore, from mid-turn. "Do not send any owls to your friends about Elizabeth Harry. Don't say anything."

"Of course."

"Goodnight then."

Dumbledore walked forward and disappeared around the corner. Harry took out the key the headmaster had given him earlier from out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock.

He stepped into the room, admiring the huge waterbed in its centre. Along the left wall there was a fireplace, though, how on earth he could light a fire whilst underwater was beyond Harry. Where would the smoke go?

And on a similar note, how could Harry send any owls when he was underwater? And where was Hedwig?

Harry imagined his owl enjoying the refreshing sea air while perched on a palm tree somewhere, getting chummy with a cockatoo.

Harry snorted. Hedwig was usually a very firm bird. Rather like the owl equivalent of Professor McGonagall. He could not see her getting friendly with any strange native birds.

Harry un-shrunk his trunk and rummaged through it until he found his pyjamas. He was just about to put them on, when he spotted something in the corner of his vision. He frowned, a little irritated.

'_Yes,'_ Harry thought as he closed the curtains over the curious faces of the blonde and blue-haired mermaids. _'He was excited about the meeting with his sister tomorrow. But, he was also very sleepy.'_

Harry put on his pyjamas and flung himself on the squishy bed, soon dozing steadily away.

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2nd Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon does.

A/N: I've posted this story on the Book Link rather than the Buffy Crossovers Link because the universe of Buffy and its characters are irrelevant to this story. But, the concept of the slayer is relevant and since that belongs to Joss Whedon I have to acknowledge it in my disclaimer. BUT! This story will not be at all like Buffy. This is a slayer of my own invention.

Also, I got the idea from this story by reading all those Buffy crossovers with her acting as Harry's sister. I like the thought of Harry having a long lost sister, so I thought I'd do my take on it. I've never seen a story where Harry went to Australia, or anyone's take on the Australian Wizarding Community, and I thought it'd be something nice to do.

The story, however, will not be set in Australia, just the first few chapters.

Because of Elizabeth's existence/presence, Harry's fifth year will veer off on a different track than the book.

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	4. Elizabeth

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. Joss Whedon owns the concept of the Slayer.

**Chapter four – Elizabeth**

Harry awoke the next morning to a highly irritating clicking nose, sounding just below his right ear. At first he didn't acknowledge it, thinking it must be the alarm clock, but then he remembered he hadn't set the clock the previous night. In fact, Harry was positive that there was no alarm clock at all in this room.

Harry opened his eyes and fiddled for his glasses on the stand next to the bed. He put them on, the blur in front of his eyes fading.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Harry cried. He hastily scrambled back, almost falling off of the other side of the bed.

There was a lobster sitting on the stand next to his bed; its sharp red pincers waved threateningly in Harry's direction. Harry stared at it, slack-jawed and disbelieving. It was the same lobster he had spotted last night, the same one that had caused such pandemonium in the resort kitchen.

What was it doing here? And more importantly, how did it get in his room?

Harry slowly stepped off the bed, all the while staring at the crustacean in case it tried to make dash across the mattress. Carefully, Harry bent over and reached for his jeans. He slipped his wand from his jean pocket. Quick as a flash Harry pointed it at the crab and stupefied it before it had a chance blink.

Harry sighed, half in relief, half in baffled exasperation. The morning hadn't even started properly and he'd already had some excitement.

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Dumbledore was dressed in an almost classy black muggle suit. The reason it was only almost classy was because he was wearing a tie with rubber duckies on it. His white hair and beard contrasted sharply against the dark suit, making them all the more noticeable. He was sitting at the round bar, chatting to the stout barkeep, and drinking a smoking concoction out of a golden goblet. Harry walked up to the Headmaster with the unconscious lobster dangling from his hand. The barkeep spotted him first, his expression bemused. Dumbledore turned around, took one look at Harry and the lobster, and started chuckling.

"I believe you have yet to introduce us, Harry," he said, still chuckling.

Harry grew red. "I don't know how it got in my room Sir. I woke up to it near my pillow."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, taking another gulp of his drink. "May I?"

Harry gratefully handed the lobster over to the headmaster. Dumbledore placed it belly-up on the bar and stared experimentally poking it. The barkeep looked between it and the headmaster, shaking his head.

"I'll leave you to it then Dumbledore," he said, and walked off to the other end of the bar where a honeymooning couple had just arrived.

Dumbledore continued examining the lobster, turning it from side to side, probing it's sharp pincers, peering at its many legs, and finally settling it back the right way up.

"Of course," Harry heard him mumble. "Most ingenious, very sneaky."

"Sorry Sir, but what's sneaky?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore looked around at Harry, his expression glowing.

"This is a _blearglob_ Harry. A magical lobster, if you will. They make marvellous spies. After all, who would suspect a lobster of spying? See its antennae? They act rather like muggle satellite signals, transmitting images and information from around them to another one of their species. It can also be described as what muggles call telepathy over a great distance."

Harry grew alarmed. "Well, who sent it to spy on me? I noticed it last night too. Do you think it could be Voldemort, Professor?"

To Harry's surprise Dumbledore only chortled. "No Harry, the only beings I have ever known who were able to tame a blearglob and utilize its abilities are Slayers." Dumbledore smiled, as if waiting for Harry to process his words.

Harry did, gazing with awe at the lobster.

"It seems Harry, that your sister is most impatient to meet you. Not to mention probably extremely worried about your safety. We will appease it of her soon, once we get going. But first, breakfast I think. "

Breakfast was pancakes with maple syrup and hot chocolate milk. After breakfast Dumbledore carefully placed the stupefied crustacean in a pouch, which he then tied to the belt around his waist.

"You have everything Harry?"

Harry nodded, trying not to look like a three-year-old kid in a sweet shop.

"Wonderful. Let's be on our way then."

Ten minutes later Harry found himself whizzing the air through the back entrance of the wizarding settlement, having just ridden the stone/bubble elevator. The mermaids, thankfully, had not been around at the time. It was a short flight, Dumbledore making commentaries every now and then.

"See that one!" he'd say, pointing to an especially fat pink blob twirling in the water below them. "That's a _Balle Sponge-soak_. It tricks people into thinking they're sponges and harmless to pick up, but when you do pick them up, they attach themselves to your face and –"

There was a horrible sucking noise.

"Well, you get the message Harry."

They landed on a narrow strip of sand in front of a caged door at the end of the tunnel.

With their brooms shrunk and hidden, Dumbledore tapped three times on the door with his wand. It opened, revealing a potholed road. Way beyond the road, Harry could see a hilly landscape with muggle houses and buildings on it. There were also a lot of different trees he had never seen before. Gum trees seemed the most prominent. But near them, next to the beach, palm trees appeared to take up most of the space.

Dumbledore shut the door and checked the watch on his wrist.

"I don't know what's taking so long," he mumbled to himself. "I called an hour ago. Ahh, here it is."

Harry turned in time to see an orange and black taxi pull up beside them. The driver looked to be in his mid-fifties, but that could only be because of the shock of white hair on his head. Harry got in first. Dumbledore followed, sliding in at the front next to the driver.

The taxi driver's expression could only be called befuddlement at Dumbledore's appearance. He hadn't stopped staring at Dumbledore's hair and beard since they'd got in.

"How long did it take you to grow that beard?" he finally asked after ten minutes of driving.

"Oh, about one hundred and fifty years," replied Dumbledore jovially. "Counting the split ends I had to trim. I had an especially difficult time in the seventies when by beard caught fire. Singed half of it off, and I've been growing it interminably ever since."

The taxi driver looked confused, as though he was trying to work out whether Dumbledore was joking. "But that doesn't really tell me your one hundred and fifty years old, mate. You were definitely alive in the seventies," he said, thinking Dumbledore's 'joke' had fallen on the flat line. "So was I for that matter."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, all knowingly. "But I never specified which seventies. My beard was burnt in 1879."

Harry sniggered. Dumbledore chuckled.

"I see you gotta sense of humour there," the driver said, finally laughing along with them. "Or else you're crackers."

"I have been called that at many points in my life, yes."

"You know, the scary thing is," said the taxi driver, now peering at Dumbledore through speculative eyes. "I have this weird feeling you're telling the truth."

Dumbledore's eyes were on twinkle overload.

"We shall never know," he responded.

Twenty minutes later they were driving next to the suburbs along the coast, where Harry saw glimpses of very tanned people with surfboards lounging on the sand by the water, or else sitting on park benches eating lunch. The driver had been puttering them with questions the whole way.

"So you're from England?" he would ask.

To which Dumbledore would reply, "Yes."

"Is it cold there?"

"Not at the moment, as it is summer."

"Right.

And the rest of the conversation continued along the same line.

Sometimes, the driver would point out famous places or buildings.

"That's where we kept the convicts about a hundred years ago. Now it's a museum," he would say, gesturing to an old-fashioned building at the top of a headland.

To which Dumbledore would reply, "Yes, I happened to be visiting when Brown-nosed Bob was executed."

To which the driver would exclaim, "But that was over a hundred and thirty years ago!"

Dumbledore would very deviously tap the side of his nose.

They continued travelling along the coast, driving passed small food stalls, clothes shops and motels, then journeying the length of a large hill. From the view on the hill, behind the trees and bushland, Harry could see the ocean, a couple of islands, and in the distance to his far right, he could barely make out the cliff that housed the wizarding settlement. At last the taxi pulled up in front of a very large, very mugglish, very expensive looking double-story house that resided on the crest of the hill, overlooking the ocean. It was literally smothered in trees and damp foliage at all sides.

"Thankyou very much," said Dumbledore as he and Harry stepped out of the taxi. Dumbledore scrounged through his muggle suit and paid Stan (the driver) and waved merrily until he was out of sight.

Harry fought hard not to skip like an idiot as he and Dumbledore made their way up the drive. He would be meeting his _sister_ in the next couple of minutes. It boggled. Thoughts flashed at super speed through Harry's brain as he tried to imagine different scenarios. He thought of what she might look like. If, perhaps, she would have red hair like his mum? Will she be tall or short or somewhere in the middle? Will she look like Hagrid, with gianormous muscles? And the most important one, will she like _him_, or will she like The-Boy-Who-Lived? After all, she knew nothing about him. Only the things Dumbledore told her.

That last thought depressed Harry, and he was in a grumpy mood by the time they reached the front door. He wasn't too far-gone in his thoughts not to notice Dumbledore knock on it, though, or jump back as it violently flung open.

Harry had only a split second to appreciate the girl's prettiness before she squealed, arms waving dangerously, and reached over and yanked him to her chest, almost crushing his ribs in the process. Harry could taste the scent of sea and watermelon in her hair and he breathed in deep. This was his sister! This was Elizabeth. It was all happening so fast.

"My Harry," she mumbled against his neck, and to his horror, Harry felt a hotness sting his eyes. He squeezed them shut, all the while marvelling that two simple words should make him feel this way. He never realised how much he needed a true family until that moment.

They reluctantly parted, Elizabeth, though, still held onto his arms, and properly, for the first time since forever, the siblings perused each other's features. Harry was, to put it bluntly, amazed at the resemblance she had to him. Her hair was shiny, black and wavy, falling passed her shoulders. She was a little taller than him, but that was to be expected, he supposed, considering she was older and he had yet to have a proper growth spurt.

She had Harry's ears, Harry's smile, and Harry's green eyes. (Which were suspiciously glassy) Hers weren't framed by spectacles, however, and he found this made them look bigger, more exotic. She was wearing denim overalls, with paint smeared on them. Definitely not like the Dursleys. She was so beautiful. And she was _his_ family. No one else's. Harry was hers and she was Harry's.

"Oh Harry," she said, and cupped his cheek, all the while staring into his eyes and shaking her head, as though she couldn't really believe she was finally meeting him. Harry couldn't believe it either. He felt like he wasn't himself, but rather, an outsider looking in. As though he was watching himself through a camera. Surely this wasn't happening to him? Surely this wasn't his life? But it was and he was so glad, so grateful, that he could have this experience, this family.

"Am I not going to get a hello, Elizabeth?"

Dumbledore had stepped through the threshold next to Harry holding his arms out. Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly, released Harry, and more or less flung herself in the headmaster's arms.

"Of course Uncle Albus," she said, giving Dumbledore a squeeze and Harry felt his jaw slacken. _Uncle Albus?_

Dumbledore grunted and coughed, though his face showed approval and warmth. "If you will let up on your embrace Elizabeth? My bones are not as strong as they used to be."

"Oh sorry," said Elizabeth her cheeks going red, and stepped back from Dumbledore. "It's just, I can't believe you're here. I can't _believe_ Harry is really here." She smiled and grabbed his hand, curling her fingers around his. Harry tried to smile back, but found it impossible to do so, as he was already grinning. In fact, he was sure he hadn't stopped smiling since he'd come through the door.

Then suddenly she let go of his hand, looking shocked. "But what am I doing? Come in, come in, you two! No! Don't take your shoes off!" she exclaimed, gesturing haphazardly with her hand, which would have knocked Dumbledore's nose if he hadn't jumped back. "I haven't had time to do the floor anyway. You won't believe the mess this place has been in. I only had time this morning to clean up the lounge and fix the broken furniture. Would you believe a werewolf smashed its way through the back door last night?"

She continued chattering as she led them through the front hall and into the living room. Harry, his arm in hers, could only gape stupidly at her. Though he wasn't sure if the reason was because he was still shocked at her presence, or because he was so caught up in her personality, which he found he liked very much. She was just a ball of mindless energy and continuous chatter.

Harry gazed with awe at his surroundings as they stepped into the living room. The wall opposite wasn't a wall but a huge glass design that looked out into the ocean. The large marble kitchen sat tucked to his left. Stairs next to the kitchen wound to the upper level in a spiral. He didn't know, but he had a feeling Elizabeth was rich.

Elizabeth was still talking.

"I had to apparate to Ayres Rock last week. A Sand Demon was terrorising the muggle tourists. Of course, no one knew I went there. But they knew something was done about it. It was in the local paper and everything. Wizards thought it was Auroras being mysterious. Tony thought, you remember Tony, right Uncle? My best friend from school?

"Anyway, he thought it might have been leechwabs, but I told him leechwabs were water dwellers and they can't live in the desert and he shut up. Good thing too, he was beginning to annoy me. Now," she finally said, shuffling them onto a red leather couch. She reached under the coffee table and handed them two bottles of butterbeer, then she stood up, hands on hips. "Are you going to say anything Harry, or are you going to sit there like a petrified person? You haven't opened your mouth since you came through the door."

Then she put her hands to her face, looking horrified. "Oh no, don't tell me you're mute – no that's not right, Uncle Albus would have said something. You know I have yet to hear your voice. Come on say something. Don't be shy now. We're family, you know. I'll be washing your underwear in the days to come, after all. No secrets in this house."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Harry cracked up. He couldn't help it. He watched as a blush spread its way from Elizabeth's neck to her cheeks.

"I suppose I have been blathering on, haven't I?" she admitted, seating herself on a cushion next to Harry. Harry though, wasn't paying attention. He was too busy trying to register what she'd said.

"What do you mean you're going to be washing my underwear? Am I staying here?" He addressed that last bit at Dumbledore, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"And so he speaks!" Elizabeth said, laughing and jumping up from her cushion. "Of course you'll be staying here Harry. Or rather, in the new house when I move back to England in a couple of weeks. You're never going back to Aunt Petunia's again. I remember her you know? I was only four, and that was the first time I ever met her, but I remember thinking she looked like a horse."

Harry snorted.

"Still does, doesn't she?" she said slyly, catching Harry's response. "Well her lack of presence won't make you cry, I'm sure. Now, anyone up for some nibbles?"

A few minutes later Elizabeth had unearthed from the bowels of her cupboards one half eaten Mars Bar, a Chocolate Frog, and two dozen packets of Chocolate Mousse.

"I get depressed living here on my own," she explained to Harry's questioning look. "But that won't be a problem now," she added, and Harry felt his ears go red with pleasure.

Meanwhile Dumbledore was taking out the lobster from the pouch at his belt. "I have something for you Elizabeth," he told her, holding up the clicking crustacean.

Elizabeth gasped, looking delighted. "Sigmund!" she proclaimed, and snatched the lobster from Dumbledore's grasp. Then she frowned. "Why is he all floppy like this Dumbledore? Why can't he walk properly?" Elizabeth had put Sigmund on the ground, and had tried to encourage him with the toe of her foot. She glared up at Dumbledore.

The headmaster held his arms aloft, looking a bit apprehensive. "Now, now, Elizabeth. He has been stunned – " and that was as far as he got.

"Stunned?" she repeated in a disbelieving sort of tone. She hoisted Sigmund up from the ground and held him around the middle. "What do you mean stunned? You know what he is, don't you? How could you stun him?" She flapped the lobster under Dumbledore's nose.

The old wizard jumped back in alarm as an especially fat pincer almost nipped the crooked tip of the bone. Harry was unabashedly staring at this display, never having met anyone who treated the headmaster as his sister was doing now.

"Now Elizabeth, you didn't let me finish."

Elizabeth paused in mid-flop, then blushed. "Sorry Uncle."

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "It's quite alright. Youth can be unpredictable."

Elizabeth blushed again and mumbled something, her brow frowning in a show of her confusion. "But if _you_ didn't stun him, who did?"

Harry gulped and looked at Dumbledore with some alarm.

"Ahh . . . I don't know," said Dumbledore, catching Harry's look. "We found him that way."

"Well, I _suppose_ that's alright, as long as I don't find out who it was. Now, how 'bout some real food? Lunch perhaps? Pizza? I've got some vouchers here somewhere." She waltzed to the kitchen and rummaged through some drawers. "Aha!" she exclaimed, triumphant. "Junk mail is good for something after all. And by the way Harry, next time you have an urge to stun my pets, clear it with me first, alright?"

Harry could only nod, admiring her all the more. He had a feeling he would often be forced to respect her in that way, and he didn't think that was a bad thing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You went up against a basilisk when you were only twelve?" Elizabeth rounded on Dumbledore, who looked taken aback. "What could you have been thinking, Dumbledore? He was only a baby!"

Harry bristled at this, but at the same time he felt ridiculously pleased at her announcement. She had often said sentences of the like during the course of their meal, and Harry, who had never had anyone mother him before (except Mrs Weasely, but that didn't count because she was Ron's mum) was not about to get tired of it any time soon. In fact, he didn't think he could get tired of it even if he tried, which he wasn't going to do.

"Now, now, Elizabeth. It's not as if I could have stopped him. He and a friend went on their own. But if it's any consolation, they also convinced the Defence Professor to go with them," Dumbledore explained.

Harry stifled a snicker. _Convinced?_ Forced more like.

Dumbledore's mouth turned upwards at the corner.

Elizabeth looked between him and Dumbledore a while, before she slammed her glass on the wooden dinning table, making them jump, and causing little drops of milk to splatter. "That doesn't excuse anything. He was still too young. I wasn't even that young when I faced my first basilisk."

Harry, who had been taking a sip of pumpkin juice at the time, choked at this proclamation.

It was a good ten seconds later when he finally stopped coughing enough to ask, "What do you mean your first basilisk?"

Elizabeth looked puzzled, before rounding again on Dumbledore, who looked completely calm. Evidently he was used to this by now. "I thought you told Harry about the whole Slayer deal?"

"I did, but I do not think he fully understands the duties that pertain to being one. Perhaps if you would explain it? I don't think I did it justice."

Elizabeth looked pleased at this. Her eyes glowed as she turned to Harry. "Where can I start?" Harry gave her an encouraging nod, wanting to hear more about this highly interesting sister of his.

She began, "Now, after I left England, I spent the next few years enduring a vigorous training schedule. I already had my powers by this time, of course. I've had them since I was born, as a matter of fact. Grandmother Potter was dead by then. Anyway, because I was a reigning slayer, I had to slay. What I mean is, I couldn't avoid it, destiny and all that. By the time I was eight I'd fought vampires, werewolves and all the other usual stuff. Cinchy creatures mostly . . ."

Harry could only stare in amazement. He would have thought that vampires and werewolves would classify as pretty major. But not to Elizabeth it seemed.

" . . . and by they time I was ten I'd beaten a Cyclops that was making a nuisance of itself – uh . . . they're like giants except with one eye," she explained, catching Harry's puzzled look.

"And all sorts of other things too, but I'll tell you about those adventures some other time. Oh remind me to tell you about the three-eyed banshee some time? That was hilarious. Where was I? Oh yes. Then when I was eleven I got my first letter to a Magic School. Wackenwand Magical College down in Tasmania.

"Of course I had to give up my slaying while I was at school, wouldn't be at all proper you know, especially if someone was to find out. No, I couldn't take that risk so I was forced to practice in secret, venting my tension out on my mattress, or else wrestling with my bed curtains. It was all very frustrating. And what are you grinning at?" she asked Harry good-naturedly. "It was horrifyingly unpleasant, I tell you, not even one Grindalow anywhere near the school. I thought I would go mad."

Harry, along with Dumbledore, was laughing outright at Elizabeth's false indignation.

"But what about the basilisk?" Harry asked. "How old were you when you fought your first one?"

"Fifteen. And I almost died. But that was only because it snuck up on me. I was off my guard at the time. Getting dumped can do that to you, I'm afraid."

"How can a basilisk roam free around here?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"Oh I wasn't here at the time, I was somewhere in the middle of the country. You know where it's nice and hot and there's nothing for miles around. Perfect habitat for basilisks. I'd apparated there to cool off. I mean," she added seeing her companion's contradictory looks, "to cool off from the argument with my ex. He was a muggle you know? Never would have worked out of course, what with this Slayer blood flowing through my veins. No, I need a good sturdy wizard," she added, and Harry blushed at her bluntness. Elizabeth didn't appear to notice.

"Anyway it was resting in this dirty billabong and I didn't see it loom out of the water until it pierced my shoulder with one of its fangs. I didn't die of course," she added hastily, seeing Harry's horrified look. "I got sick quick enough though, but being a Slayer, my blood was already potent all on its own, and I was able to counteract the venom. But I chopped its head off soon enough with my broad sword. After dodging a couple more swipes of its jaws, of course."

Harry realised in that moment that he had never met anyone as cool as his sister.

"Speaking of basilisks," Dumbledore said, "I believe the native muggles even have a legend of the basilisk. The wizards at the time couldn't cover up the secret."

Elizabeth chuckled. The sound made Harry feel like he was finally coming home after an extremely long day. "Yea, Australia is full of basilisks. Well not completely full, their usually very solitary creatures. Anyway, the legend was about this basilisk, the muggles called it a Big Snake, it lived in a lake and petrified any poor muggles who came to get a drink. They didn't get killed outright because they saw it through the water. They're still petrified of course. Their statues can be seen in the Australian Wizardry Museum in Sydney."

"Why don't wizards give them a mandrake potion?" Harry asked.

"They would," Dumbledore interjected. "But they've been petrified for too long. Thousands of years in fact, and if they were to give them a potion now, as soon as they wake up they would disintegrate because their bodies are so old. It was only the magic of the basilisk that kept their bodies composed. And before you ask, ancient wizards couldn't have given the muggles mandrake potion at the time because such a thing did not exist."

"Elizabeth?" Harry asked, catching on to something she'd said earlier. "How could you have apparated to the desert if you were only fifteen at the time?"

"Nothing passes this one!" she responded, looking at Harry with a mixture of pride and amazement. Harry experienced that ridiculously pleased feeling spread through his stomach again. "To answer your question, I _could_ apparate when I was fifteen, but let's just say that _the frog wasn't exactly in the pond_, if you know what I mean."

Harry grinned. It seems as though his Father wasn't the only Potter who was allergic to rules.

They spent the next couple of minutes discussing all things from Quidditch ("I wanted to play, but I couldn't risk hurting someone," Elizabeth said with a sad sort of smile) to, of all people, Professor Snape ("Do you want me to slay him for you Harry?" she asked, to Dumbledore's amusement.) Somehow, the Dursley's turned up in their discussion ("What do you mean you've never tasted pizza?" Elizabeth hollered, looming protectively over Harry, her face turning red. "I'll kill those Dursley's!")

After that last reaction of Elizabeth's, Harry decided not to tell her that he had lived in a cupboard under the stairs until he was eleven.

"So . . ." he began, staring intently at Elizabeth's still fuming face. "About that werewolf smashing through your house? Is that going to be a common occurrence –?"

It did the trick. Elizabeth laughed, forgetting, for the moment, his horrible relatives.

"Well of course," she said lightly. And Harry, who had fully expected an answer in the negative, because he'd only been joking, was momentarily stumped.

Elizabeth, seeing his expression, chuckled. "I'm a Slayer Harry," she explained. "You can say part of my power is that I can feel dark creatures, and part of theirs is that they can feel me. And they will seek me out if I'm close enough, even if they can't help themselves, like werewolves. And I have to do the same. It's a tit for tat situation. Well," she added, a pensive look on her face. "Until I kill or beat them."

Harry blanched.

"Oh don't worry!" she said, catching his suddenly pale countenance. "I don't kill werewolves. They're people after all. But something like, say, a basilisk? Then I have no qualms about chopping them up."

Harry then decided never to get on Elizabeth's bad side unless he valued his health.

"So what did you do with the werewolf after you – er – beat it?"

Elizabeth bit heartily into a pizza slice and answered, in a much more dignified way than Ron ever could with a full mouth, "Took him back to his house and chained him up. I sat with him last night until he changed back into a man. You can be certain I gave him a stern talking to this morning, about how he shouldn't roam around unchecked –"

"You know him?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"'Course! He's the baker!"

Harry was confused. So was Dumbledore for that matter.

"You two are hopeless!" Elizabeth said, gulping her food. "The baker that works in The Wormhole? In the eighth tunnel across?"

Harry remembered seeing yesterday night that the bakery had been closed. Both he and Dumbledore developed dawning expressions.

"Now they get it!" Elizabeth said, throwing her hands in the air in a show of her false exasperation.

"Wait a minute. D'you mean to say you were in Wrigadoogong last night?" asked Harry, thinking he might have walked right passed her without knowing.

Elizabeth nodded, her mouth filled with pizza.

"How did you manage? A great werewolf, wouldn't someone have seen it?"

"Disillusionment charm," she mumbled through the pizza.

Harry, who had never heard of such a thing, assumed it must act like an invisibility cloak.

"That must be when you dropped off Sigmund," Dumbledore said knowingly.

Elizabeth frowned. "No, I sent him off on his own a couple of nights ago, when I wrote Harry the letter. I had a feeling you might take Harry to the Shellock Ups. I was right wasn't I?"

"It wasn't a very wise decision Elizabeth," Dumbledore chided.

Elizabeth's head whipped around. "What do mean?" she asked very quickly.

"Just that he was about to become dinner for some of the patrons."

Elizabeth's half-eaten pizza slice dropped from her hand and landed face down on the table. Her pallor seemed rather green.

"Sigmund . . .? Dinner . . .?" she stuttered. Then she sighed looking rather tired. "Emma never would have forgiven me."

"Emma?" prodded Harry.

"Sigmund's wife," Elizabeth answered, staring at a spot on the table.

Harry and Dumbledore exchanged looks.

Elizabeth caught them. "I'm not crazy. Blearglobs mate for life you know. They have their own ceremony and everything. In fact, I married them."

This, it seemed, only seem to encourage Harry's and Dumbledore's opinions that Elizabeth might have had one too many butterbeers.

"Granted," Elizabeth continued with a sly sideways look at her companions. "I was only five at the time. But it was a beautiful ceremony nonetheless. Sigmund in a smashing black bow tie and top hat, and Emma with a silky white vale . . ." she sighed. "Those were the days."

Harry just stared. Dumbledore smirked.

Elizabeth looked at Harry. "Oh come on Babe," she said, waving a hand. "This is the wizarding world! Animals here are nothing like those in the muggle world. Okay, I have to admit that Sigmund and Emma might not have known they were actually getting married. Actually, they probably don't know what the word means. But they knew they were making me happy if they participated, and that's all that counts right?"

Harry came out of his shock to say, "They have human characteristics?"

"Not really, they can just understand me, and probably you as well since you're my brother. Same blood and all that."

"So . . . so this same blood," Harry began, suddenly feeling anxious. "It wouldn't give dark creatures any cause to come after me would it? Like they do to you?"

Elizabeth smiled widely. "You know Babe, that's a good question."

Harry went red, both with pleasure and embarrassment. This was the second time she'd called him that. And for someone who'd never had an affectionate nickname bestowed on him, it was a little overwhelming, but in a good way.

"But I don't think you have anything to worry about," she concluded, hauling herself up from the chair. "I am stuffed! Harry!" she said suddenly, making him jump. "Remind not to eat so much next time.

"So what do you guys want to do now? Watch TV. I've got videos and DVD's. You know," she added, laughing. "I've got this kids movie called _Casper Meets Wendy_. I crack up every time I watch it. It's sort of like the muggle take on witches. They even have cauldron's and wands, and broomsticks, and ghosts, and this evil warlock who apparates. It's really cool. What do you say Uncle Albus?"

Dumbledore looked between Harry and Elizabeth's faces, and checked the watch on his wrist. "Well, I really should be going right now, but I think I can stay for a few more hours at least. Hogwarts will not suffer without me."

"Choice!" Elizabeth said.

Harry didn't recognise the term, but he had a feeling it was one of those 'in' words. Harry was reminded again of how cool his sister was. He chuckled inwardly. _His sister_. He was still slightly amazed at how easy the transition had been for him. One minute he hadn't had a sister; the next minute he not only had a sister, but a sister who believed that fighting dark creatures was easier than making toast. He had a feeling she and Charlie – whom he'd always thought was brave and adventurous due to his hazardous occupation – would get along. But despite her dangerous hobby, Elizabeth was just so, so sparkly, and he couldn't help but like her. And he wouldn't be surprised if she had a black leather jacket hanging in her cupboard. He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione about her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A couple of hours later they were watching the credits roll at the end of _Casper Meets Wendy_. Dumbledore was still chuckling.

"Who would have thought that you could make people out of a bunch purple goop?" he asked himself. "If I'd have known that I would have created multiple me's long ago, so that the real me could relax on vacation forever in the Bahamas."

The image Harry had of Dumbledore last year smearing sunscreen on his crooked nose flashed through his thoughts and he snorted before he could stop himself. Elizabeth must have had similar thoughts because she was full out cracking. Her face was red, she was holding onto her stomach, and it seemed she could hardly breath.

"I need some water!" she said finally, and dashed off to the kitchen. But she came back a while later with three bowls of ice cream. "I've put chocolate sprinkles on them," she said happily.

Dumbledore, however, declined. "I cannot Elizabeth, I have already stayed long enough from the castle – "

"But isn't it night time there?" Elizabeth stated, looking indignant.

"Yes, but there are other things I must take charge of . . ."

Dumbledore seemed to be giving Elizabeth a sort of hint, because he narrowed his eyes at her until she nodded, mouthing the word _Oh_. Harry reminded himself to question Elizabeth on that look.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore said, turning towards him. "I'm giving you a choice. You can owl your Godfather and your friends, explaining to them the situation – that you have found your sister and are currently living with her. Or, you can wait until two weeks when you will go back to England and see them. Either way you cannot mention anything about the Slayer, that is a secret only Elizabeth can choose to reveal."

"I don't know," said Harry, looking between his sister and the headmaster and scratching the back of his head. "It's not exactly the sort of thing you can put in a letter. And," he added with a shy grin, looking down at his shoes, and not believing he could be so daring as to say this, "I'd like to keep Elizabeth to myself for a bit. And keeping the others in suspense won't hurt either."

Both Elizabeth and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"So what do you plan on telling them?" asked Elizabeth, her green eyes sparkling with inner warmth. "That you're still living with the Dursley's?"

Harry shrugged. "No, actually." He noticed the puzzled look on Elizabeth's face. "Well it's not as if they're going to ask where I am. They'd still assume I'm at the Dursley's wouldn't they?"

"You little Slytherin!" Elizabeth exclaimed, and Dumbledore laughed at Harry's bewildered expression.

Harry, still blushing, thought it was time to change the subject. "So you mentioned something about moving in two weeks?"

Dumbledore was all business. "Yes. Elizabeth is having a house built in Surrey – "

"Surrey!"

"In Little Whinging as a matter of fact . . . Don't look so surprised Harry. This way you can be closer to your blood kin. It will offer you a greater protection from Voldemort, and you will live in an area you are already familiar with. But you won't be moving there right away. The house will not be finished by the time you go to England. It's being built the muggle way after all."

"Then, where will we be staying?"

"Sirius has a house – "

"Sirius?" Harry asked quickly. Surely he hadn't heard right? Then, "He has a house?"

"Sirius has kindly offered us the use of his family home. Those opposed to Voldemort are using it as headquarters for our operation. The Weasley's and Miss Granger will be staying there also."

Harry couldn't believe it! He would be living with his best friends and Sirius _and_ Elizabeth all under one roof. It was like he'd entered a waking dream. Everything was going right. Suddenly, Voldemort and all problems associated with him didn't seem to matter anymore. He was on the other side of the world. He had no idea where Harry was. And even if he somehow found out, Harry had a Slayer on his side. He was likely more protected than he'd ever been in his whole life.

"I will leave you then Harry. Elizabeth, go easy on him would you. I do not want to come back in two weeks to find Harry lying in a coma on the kitchen floor."

"What _are_ you accusing me of?" she asked, a sly smile adorning her lips. "I would never propose to corrupt young Harry here. And I would die before hurting him."

She slapped a hand on Harry's back, causing his knees to buckle and forcing him to the floor.

"Oh, sorry!" she said sheepishly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but the foremost emotion appeared to be concern on his wrinkled face. "That is exactly what I'm talking about."

"Don't worry Professor," said Harry, before Elizabeth could open her mouth. "It's like being with Hagrid. You get used to it after a while."

Dumbledore did not seem too relieved. "It is not like being with Hagrid Harry. He is not even half as strong as your sister is."

Harry gaped at him.

"'With the strength of a troll,' remember Harry."

"I do not fancy being likened to a troll, thankyou very much Uncle," said Elizabeth, yanking Harry up by his collar so that his feet momentarily left the floor, then crossing her arms. "Now if you'd said strength of a giant . . . no, that's a bad analogy. Well you know what I mean . . . And I can't believe you'd think that I would ever hurt Harry. I know my own strength, you know."

"No doubt you do. All I'm saying is to be careful. You are not used to embracing people, as I'm sure you would want to often demonstrate with Harry."

"You're right about that," she said, looking fondly over at her brother. "He's very huggable isn't he. 'Feel like giving him a squadge right now. Honestly Harry, I have no idea how you manage to keep the girls off your back. They must throw themselves at you like a pack of wolfs jumping a fresh kill."

Harry grew crimson. He really had to get used to Elizabeth's propensity for bluntness, otherwise he'd have to change his name to Harry Hot-Head.

"Look at him go!" she said, referring to Harry's now even redder face. "Really Babe, there's no need to blush. We're family. That's what families do. We rib each other. In fact, I give you my full permission to embarrass me any time you like."

Harry hadn't known families deliberately insulted each other. Or was it just Elizabeth? She, like him, had never had a family either; perhaps she didn't know how to behave as well? "I'll hold you to that," he told her.

"See, now that's what I'm talking about," she said, nipping his nose affectionately with her forefinger. "Full on throttle is the way to go. But seriously Harry, you are so easy to goad. I imagine you have a quick temper too, and there's no need to blush again. I'm only pointing out the obvious because I love you. "

Harry, alarmingly, felt the back of his eyes grow hot and he bent over quickly in the pretence of tying his shoelace. Why was he feeling this way? He'd never given in to bouts of . . . well, whatever, before. Why did it have to happen now, in front of Elizabeth and Dumbledore? Harry looked up and saw that the headmaster was staring at the ceiling, apparently fascinated by the light bulb. Elizabeth, well, Elizabeth was smiling at him with tears in her own eyes, but her fists were clenched. Though, why on earth she should be angry Harry didn't understand. He hoped he hadn't offended her.

"Now then," said Dumbledore after Harry had stood up again. "It is truly time for me to leave." He shook Harry's hand and embraced Elizabeth. "I will see the both of you in two weeks. Remember to owl occasionally and tell me how you're adjusting. Goodbye." He disappeared with a small _pop_.

Elizabeth moved over to Harry. "It's just you and me now Babe," she flung an arm around his shoulders and offered him an evil grin. Harry gulped. "I can't _wait_ to take you slaying," she added with much enthusiastic inflection.

_Slaying?_

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A/N: Do not worry peoples; Elizabeth will definitely NOT be a Mary-Sue. I hate those. This story will be mostly from Harry's perspective. It will be his fifth year like it is in the book, but because Elizabeth is there it will change somewhat. For example, Harry will not be as angry and Cedric's death will not affect him so strongly, because he now has someone to share his feelings with without getting embarrassed. There will be loads of other changes as well, but I can't mention them because they'll affect the story.

Also, I really, really like Dumbledore, so I'm not going to portray him as bad, per say, like some fics do. He's not bad, only misguided in some respects regarding Harry, which he comes to realise at the end of book five. However, in this story, he will realise it earlier (hint hint)

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REVIEW PLEASE! I understand I can't get more reviews because by the time I submit a chapter a load of other people have submitted their's too, and my story gets pushed back to the second or third page, so you can't immediately see it. But if you do find it and read it, I would like a review.


	5. Adjusting

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry_ _Potter_, J.K. Rowling has that privilege. Joss Whedon owns the concept of the Slayer.

A/N: I've changed this story to Buffy Crossovers, before it was in plain old Books. Someone pointed out to me in my other story that I've ticked I won't accept anonymous reviews from people. I didn't know that! I do now, so anyone, not just registered authors, can review my story. Again, I apologize.

**Chapter Five: Adjusting.**

"So what exactly are we going to slay?" Harry asked for what seemed the hundredth time that night. He and Elizabeth were walking in a graveyard.

"Vampires," she replied. She was looking around the tombstones with her wand in her hand. Seeing this, Harry took his out.

"You mean _we_ are actually going to _kill_ –?"

"Don't be silly, Babe! I don't kill Vampires. They're alright, really. But they do make a nuisance of themselves. It's best to incapacitate them before they do any harm. Making them eat nothing but lettuce is the most popular method to use. But I recommend chocolate, that way they actually have to buy it, rather than sneak into people's gardens and steal vegetables –"

"But I thought Vampires were only found in Romania or something," Harry said, feeling supremely confused.

Elizabeth laughed heartily. "What have you been reading? Dracula? Well I suppose that's where a number of them do live, but some can be found somewhere other than Europe. There are a lot in China, for instance."

"I didn't think there would be any in Australia," said Harry.

"There aren't _that_ many," Elizabeth admitted. "Australia is more werewolf territory. But what did I say before, dark creatures are –"

"– attracted to you, I know," Harry said in a tone that implied he had heard that sentence one too many times.

But the truth was, Harry hadn't heard that sentence one too many times, only once or twice before, because he hadn't even known Elizabeth for a full day yet. Harry was still amazed at how comfortable he was with her. He felt like he had known her all his life. Perhaps it was because Elizabeth seemed to known him so well? Perhaps it was because their personalities coincided? Or perhaps it was nothing more than Elizabeth being his sister. Whatever it was, Harry knew he had never opened up as quickly to any person as he did towards Elizabeth. There was just something about her that made him feel entirely comfortable in her presence.

And Harry had been right; she did own a leather jacket. And now, he owned one, too. It was his "Welcome Home" gift Elizabeth had purchased specifically for him, before she'd sent him his letter with the cockatoo. To say Harry had been surprised when he'd opened the cupboard in his new room and found it hanging there with a note stating "Enjoy" was an understatement.

Now he was proudly wearing it as he hunted for Vampires. Harry had to acknowledge he didn't feel quite so weedy anymore as he heard the leather creaking at the joints. For the first time in his life, he felt cool.

Elizabeth ruffled his hair before smirking. "Like it do you? I knew you would."

"Well no one thought to get me a leather jacket before. Actually, no one's bought me clothes at all before. I have to wear Dudley's cast-offs."

Elizabeth's emerald eyes so like his own, went cold at that, reminding him, for one wild second, a lot of Sirius. He chided himself. He probably shouldn't have told her that last bit; she already hated the Dursley's enough as it was.

"So that's why you looked so, so dwarfed and skinny!" she spat through gritted teeth. Harry was not insulted, though he did go red because she noticed his lack of weight and commented on it. No one had done that before. Well, perhaps Madam Pomfrey.

"It's alright Elizabeth, really," Harry said. "I'm used to it."

This was too much for Elizabeth it seemed. "That's just it!" she exploded, and Harry jumped back in surprise, almost squashing the fresh flowers someone had placed on top of the grave behind him. "You shouldn't have to get used to it! They should have provided you with a proper childhood, they should have gotten you proper clothes – unless . . ." she paused here, looking sheepish. "Unless, they're really poor, and now I feel really stupid for not having realised it –"

Harry held up a hand. "Relax," he told her. "They're not poor. You should've been able to tell by the clothes, anyway. No poor family would have a son has porky as Dudley."

Elizabeth laughed for a second, then she scowled. "But that just means I was right about them from the off. They had no right to treat you like that Harry. You do know that?" She stared searchingly into his eyes."

"Yes," Harry said simply. "I have a best friend, Ron Weasely. His family is massive. Seven kids, and all redheads. His parents are really nice. I spend the summer at their house sometimes."

Elizabeth looked consoled at that, and she let out a breath. "That's good then. At least you know how a _real_ family should act. But even if you didn't I would have shown you. That's what we're going to have, you know; a real family." She grinned at Harry, and Harry smiled back. He couldn't _wait_ to tell Ron and Hermione about her.

"So tell me about our Godfather?" she asked Harry, her wand twirling between her fingers. "Is he as much of a rebel as I remember?"

"You remember him?" Harry asked in surprise. "How can you?"

"I was four the last time I saw him, Babe, of course I remember him. Besides," she added with a sly glance back at him, "a Slayer's memories are much better than the average person's."

"But then you must remember our parents!" Harry burst out excitedly.

"I was wondering when you'd clue in to that," she said, laughing.

"But this is wicked! You know stuff about them that even Sirius doesn't, or Lupin! You remember them in their home. You remember me, then, too, right?"

"Of course I do!

"Well?" Harry said, fairly bouncing on his heels. "What were they like?"

Elizabeth chortled. "In a minute Harry. First we have do deal with that Vampire." She gestured over his shoulder.

"What –?" Harry spun around, his heart hammering. The grave he'd almost trodden on earlier was now disturbed, the dirt having rumpled, as though someone had climbed out of their coffin. And it looked like someone had. Standing next to the grave's tombstone was a Vampire, it could be nothing else. Its skin was yellow and waxy, stretching over the bones of its cheek. Its mouth was opened in an ugly grin, demonstrating to Harry, again, just why this person was a Vampire. It was wearing a lacy shirt and black pants, now dusty from the dirt of the grave it climbed out of.

The only thought Harry could process, as he watched the Vampire slink closer to him, was that Sirius really could have passed for a member of the un-dead.

"Touch him and you're toasted," growled Elizabeth, coming to stand beside him.

The Vampire paused, but only for a second. It gazed strangely at Elizabeth with its hollow, black eyes, and cocked its head to the side. Then it spoke in a soft, gravely undertone. "You are different than the younger one; your blood smells more powerful." It grinned nastily, exposing its sharp glinting fangs, and began stalking forward. "You will quench my thirst for many months to come."

Harry was becoming alarmed and not a little scared now. He knew Elizabeth could easily take the Vampire, but the way it was talking about drinking her blood, it was just creepy.

"You won't be sucking on anyone's neck today," Elizabeth told it, lifting her wand.

The Vampire scoffed. "You think a puny wizard's stick can defeat me? Already my brethren are come."

Hearing this Harry slowly turned around. About three more Vampires stood in a semi-circle behind him and Elizabeth. He gulped.

"Der!" said Elizabeth, prompting the Vampire's brow to crease in confusion. "I felt them from a mile away. And how old are you exactly?"

The Vampire smirked. "I am some three hundred years."

"So what are you doing hanging around a fresh grave? Oh, to wait for prey to come along, I suppose. Well you're not terribly smart for a three hundred-year-old dead guy."

The Vampire scowled in annoyance. "And why am I not?"

"Because you would have known that I'm the Slayer as soon as you saw me."

At this, the surrounding Vampires cackled, a grating sound that grinded down Harry's spine. It sounded like coffins and corpses.

"There is no more Slayer in these parts; he has been killed six months previous." The head Vampire said, closing in on them. The other Vampires followed suit.

"So you thought you could take advantage of the fact? Well it might be true that the Slayer's dead, but haven't you heard he has – "

"– a son, not a daughter, and he is the Slayer in these parts, not you."

"Now that's just where you happen to be wrong. I am also a Slayer. Just not for this territory. Doesn't my blood draw you in?"

"Enough lies. Get them!" The Vampire shouted and the rest charged. Harry realised, in that horrifying instant, that Vampires were extremely fast. He could only see a blur, only feel a rushing wind as they lurched towards him and Elizabeth. It took him a split second to grasp that he was going to die. He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the inevitable.

waiting . . . .

and waiting . . .

still waiting . . .

Either these Vampires were extremely stupid and had miscalculated Harry's position, or, something had stopped them before they could reach him.

Harry opened his eyes.

The three Vampire minions that had charged at him were lying on the ground at his feet. One was clutching what looked like a broken nose, another was holding onto its stomach, and the last one was rolling from side to side pressing a knee into its chest. Harry could see a bit of splintered bone poking out of the knee socket. He turned away from the revolting sight and came face to face with Elizabeth who had the head Vampire in a tight neck-hold. The Vampire looked to be choking.

"Now what am I?" she asked it.

"S-slayer," gasped the Vampire.

"Good," said Elizabeth, and pointed her wand at its head. At this, the Vampire began struggling alarmingly. Elizabeth did not appear too concerned.

"_Cotakus_," she said, and an amber light spurted out of her wand, enveloping the Vampire with its glow.

"No!" it shouted, as Elizabeth realised it, sending it stumbling a good five feet away.

"Now for the rest." Elizabeth calmly walked over to the other Vampires, pointing her wand and performing the same spell on them. "You can go now," she told them after she finished, and they scattered, grumbling and limping away, though still somewhat speedily. A few seconds later they disappeared behind a mausoleum.

"Close your mouth Harry, you'll catch a fly. They're notorious in Australia don't you know."

"But . . . you . . . just . . . Vampires!"

"Exactly," said Elizabeth, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the cemetery gates. "At least I was kind to them. They'll like chocolate better than cabbage at any rate."

"I thought it was lettuce."

"Same difference."

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"So you do this often? Hunting Vampires, I mean?" Harry asked before spooning some chocolate ice cream into his mouth. He and Elizabeth had had a shower and changed into pyjamas when they'd gotten home from the cemetery. Harry's were the usual stripy ones from Hogwarts; Elizabeth's were pale pink with little watermelon buttons.

They were currently sitting in the living room watching – however weird it was – a Vampire movie Elizabeth had purchased only recently, despite the fact that the movie wasn't all that recent.

"No," she said, and plopped some ice cream in her mouth. "Vampires aren't that common in Australia, after all." Harry admired her ability to talk so fluently with a full mouth.

"What is common in Australia?"

"Like I said, werewolves. But they don't travel together. Neither do Vampires, as a matter of fact."

"Then why were – "

"– the Vampires we met tonight hunting together?"

Harry nodded.

"Safety reasons, probably. They're not completely stupid after all. They would have heard the old Slayer's died, but they would have known his son was taking his place. They wanted to be as prepared as they could. But they didn't know about me, obviously, otherwise they wouldn't have bothered trying anything at all."

"Do you often inspire such . . ." Harry paused here, gesturing instead with his hand.

"Fear?" Elizabeth said, interpreting his gesture.

"More like, I don't know, respect? A fearful respect maybe?"

"You're right about that. And yes, that always happens."

"So you're kind of famous," Harry concluded.

"Only by reputation," Elizabeth told him. "Not by name, otherwise everyone would know who I am. Have to keep it a secret, and all that."

Elizabeth turned her gaze back to the TV as Harry nodded, admiring her all the more.

"Oh, this is a good part, Harry!" she exclaimed.

The siblings watched as the Vampire onscreen grabbed the young man, lifting him high into the air and biting him, before letting him fall and crash into the water far below.

"Can Vampires fly?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"No, but they can bewitch your mind to a certain extent. Nothing like _Imperius_, but it's still a violation of your will. Mind rape, I call it. Others call it Legilemency." Elizabeth snorted. "Load of rubbish, is what it is. If all Vampires were proficient at Legilemency, than everyone would be a Vampire. No, their type of bewitchment isn't even as strong as Legilemency. If you have any will at all you can throw off a Vampire's gaze. In other words, all children are safe in that regard." Elizabeth offered Harry a one-sided grin.

"What's Legilemency?" Harry asked, curious.

"Another thing you don't know? What do they teach you in Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Harry felt a hotness sweep his cheeks. "We've only had one good Defence Professor, and that was in third year. We're hardly going to learn anything that complicated in third year, are we?" Harry said, defending his school.

"Fair enough. I'll have to talk to Dumbledore about what teachers he hires, though. As for what Legilemency is, it's like telepathy I suppose, only not as complex."

"Mind reading?" Harry asked quickly.

"No, there's no such thing as mind reading. More like, image reading. If you're a Legilemens you can take certain images out of people's minds and find out what they're thinking that way. It's useful if you want to catch out a liar." Elizabeth scooped out the rest of her ice cream, not noticing Harry's blanched face.

"Elizabeth?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?" she said, gazing at the screen.

"Is there any way you can stop someone going into your mind?"

"Well of course!"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "How would I go about doing that?"

Elizabeth finally turned to him, her expression sad. "You know, I'd forgotten about Voldemort," she said quietly, taking his hand in hers. "No doubt you're thinking about him now, and yes, before you ask, Voldemort is a sufficiently capable Legilemens."

"So when I meet him again he'll be able go into my mind?"

Elizabeth shot up at that, standing over Harry with hands on hips. "What do you mean _when_? You're never going to meet him again if I can help it!"

Harry slouched in his seat at the force of Elizabeth's temper. "But if I do . . ." he prodded.

Elizabeth sighed, flinging herself once more beside him on the couch. "If you do, we'll have to teach you Occlumency before hand."

"That's going to stop him going into my mind?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Mind you," she said. "You're going to have to be one powerful Occlumens to shut Voldemort out of your head."

"Can you teach me?" Harry asked excitedly.

Elizabeth snorted. "I'm not that good. Your headmaster's better."

Harry's face fell. Elizabeth saw it. "But, I'll do what I can," she finally said.

Harry grinned.

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"Harry! Harry! Wake up."

"Wosmatter!"

He heard a chuckle.

"It's time for my morning run. Wanna join me? We'll buff you up yet!"

Harry wondered how it was possible to blush while he was still half asleep.

"Yea, all right," he told Elizabeth, cracking open an eye. All he saw was a blur that reached out and ruffled his hair, before disappearing out the door. Harry reached over onto the night stand and put on his glasses. He looked out the large window. He had been delighted to discover yesterday afternoon that his bedroom window overlooked the ocean. But he couldn't see the ocean now, as it was pitch dark outside.

"The girl's mad!" Harry mumbled to himself, as he got out of bed. He rummaged through his inbuilt cupboard (which was a whole lot bigger than the one he'd spent eleven years in) and pulled out jeans and a shirt. He also grabbed a jumper. No doubt it was chilly outside.

Harry had also been delighted to discover that his room had an ensuit, with a built in bathroom and toilet. He went there now, brushing his teeth and doing other morning type things. He stared at himself in the mirror. Was it his imagination, or did the bags under his eyes look less baggy? He shrugged uncomfortably. That still didn't mean his nightmares had lessened.

"Babe!" Elizabeth's voice came up from the floor. "If you're not down in one minute I'm leaving without you!"

Harry quickly slipped on his shoes, tying the laces, and fairly flew out the door and down the spiral staircase. Elizabeth was standing near the kitchen bench, her hair fell in a thick plait over her shoulder. She was wearing black bike shorts and a crop top, over that she had placed a huge white zip-up sweater. She held out a white Nike hat to him. Harry took it dubiously.

"It's dark outside," he said. Nevertheless he put on the cap.

Elizabeth shrugged; placing a cap on _her_ head, except it was black. "We'll be out for an hour at the least. You'll be surprised how quickly dawn comes. And what are you doing wearing that?"

Harry glanced down at himself. He didn't see anything wrong with what he was wearing.

Elizabeth, catching Harry's perusal of himself, rolled her eyes. "All you blokes are the same. Well come on, it's too late to change now."

After half an hour of continuos running Harry realised just what was wrong with his outfit. His jeans felt extremely uncomfortable and very heavy, sticking to his sweating legs. He felt like he was running through mud. He didn't need Elizabeth's "Told you so," to know he had made a serious error in choosing his clothes.

"We'll rest now," Elizabeth said, stopping by a park bench. Harry dropped onto it like a stone, breathing and sweating heavily. They had already run down the huge hill Elizabeth's house resided on, and now they had arrived at the spot where he'd seen those tanned surfboarders the day before. He dreaded having to go back up the hill.

"Don't worry Harry," Elizabeth said, not looking the least bit tired or sweaty. "After a week of running, half and hour will seem like a cinch. Do you want some water?"

Harry nodded weakly.

Elizabeth smirked and handed him the water bottle attached to her hip. Harry gulped the water down like he hadn't seen it in weeks.

"Now that we're resting, do you want to tell me who Cedric is?'

The water Harry was drinking went down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke. Elizabeth helped him along by pounding on his back. He figured he probably had a few broken bones.

"How do you know about Cedric?" he asked her, a bit harshly.

Elizabeth lifted a brow. "I don't, that's why I'm asking. But you were dreaming about him last night? Got anything to share Harry?" she asked with a sly smile, nudging his shoulder with her own.

Harry blushed furiously at what she was implying. "No!"

"You know I don't mind if you are, right?"

"I'm not," Harry said quickly. "Cedric's, well, he's dead now!"

"Oh," she said quietly, glancing away from him to stare at the ocean.

Harry let out a breath. "Look, did Dumbledore tell you about the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Vaguely," Elizabeth said, still not looking at him. "All he said was that you and some other kid from Hogwarts were competing and that Voldemort – Oh Harry, I'm so sorry! And you blame yourself, don't you?"

Harry opened his mouth. Elizabeth didn't give him a chance to speak. "Of course you do! That's why you're having nightmares about it!"

"Look, it's alright –"

"No it's not, Harry. A kid your age should not have to go through all the things you went through." She stood up and clenched her fists. "Ooo! It makes me so mad that you had to go through all that. If I were there at the time, I would have –" she made a few alarming gestures. Harry reminded himself to introduce her to Hagrid.

"But you weren't there," Harry reminded her.

"But I will be now," Elizabeth vowed, and they both smiled.

"Let's do some stretches then. Some stomach crunches will be good for you. I'll have to remember to introduce you to my weights set at home. We'll get those arms toned up in no time."

Harry sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. He found he didn't really want to anyway.

After running back home and doing some more exercise, though this time in the way of lifting weights, Elizabeth made breakfast, then told him to go upstairs and pack his hat and a towel, and anything else he wanted to bring along to keep him amused. They were going to the beach. "I've bought you some boardies too!" she said happily, rifling through her a kitchen draw and pulling out a plastic shopping bag.

"What are board-_ees_?" Harry asked, bemused, thankful, and objecting at the same time.

Elizabeth looked at him cross-ways. "Boardies? Board shorts. Clothes you swim in!"

"Oh."

"I tried to find some manly ones for you. I didn't think you'd appreciate bright orange or lemon yellow, or ones with flowers on them. Men's fashion these days, I ask you!" Then she went on a lengthy tirade about girly looking clothes. "Anyway, I found these." She produced a pair of dark green "boardies" with black and white stripes down the sides. "Cool, aren't they?"

Harry could only nod. The Dursley's hadn't ever taken him swimming before, so he'd had no need for swimming trunks.

"I thought so too," Elizabeth said. "Go upstairs and try them on."

He did; and ten minutes later, with his half-finished potions essay tucked under one arm, and a towel, quill, and a bottle of ink in the other, Harry slumped dejectedly down the stairs and along the corridor.

Elizabeth, who'd been standing waiting for him by the front door took one look at him and started sniggering.

"Laugh it up," Harry told her, flatly. He knew he wasn't winning any brownie points with his white, knobbly knees showing below the board shorts and his heavy black joggers thumping stupidly with every step he took. "It's easy for you. You're attractive, and you've got that light golden tan," he said, looking her over. Elizabeth was wearing the top of a dark blue bikini and the bottom of a pair of tight looking jeans. Her black hair flowed loosely over her back. "Look at you, then look at me with my sickly white skin, crooked knees, and weedy legs."

"Well I wouldn't call them weedy, Harry."

Harry glared at her. "No one will think I'm your brother." Harry took great pleasure in saying the word 'brother'.

"Yes they will, we look exactly alike. Besides, you're way cuter than I am! Anyway, a couple of weeks in the sun and you'll get a tan too, and your knees will toughen up because you'll be running every day. You'll develop muscle on your legs. And as for those shoes," she glanced down at them, scrunching her nose in an attempt not to laugh. "They're not made for the beach; we'll fix them up now."

Elizabeth grabbed his stuff and dumped it in her beach bag, then pulled him along outside in front of the garage. She fiddled in her jeans pockets for a while, finally managing to unearth a set of keys, she pointed them at the garage door, and with a whirring noise it started lifting upwards.

Harry was met with the front of a dark blue, expensive looking sports car with the word _Eunos_ printed on it. He gaped at it. Elizabeth had to be loaded with money.

"How did you get so rich?" He didn't quite manage to keep the disbelief from his voice.

Elizabeth laughed as they walked up to the car. She unlocked it, and they got in. Inside, it smelled like new carpet.

"Our parents were rich, Babe. Didn't you know?"

He'd known he was well off, but not that well off.

"You mean you have your own account, too?"

"Yep!" Elizabeth started the engine and turned out of the drive, the garage door closing itself behind her when she pressed the button on her keys again. He found he loved everything about Elizabeth, especially her habit of mingling the muggle with the magical. "There's a branch of Gringotts down in Sydney. Of course the main one's in London, but we get by."

They had only driven for about fifteen minutes when Elizabeth parked on the road next to a shop with a surfboard above its label. It read "Billabong."

"Here we are. This is where I got your boardies from."

They walked into the shop. It was very like a tropical hut. It had dry palm tree leaves on the ceiling and wooden poles held it together. Bags of every kind hung from the rafters, beads of jewellery and sunglasses were displayed in glass cases. Surfboards, skateboards and rollerblades littered the back of the shop, and an impossible number of clothes filled up the sides. In the middle there was a counter. Harry noticed that the shop was divided in two, one side was obviously for men, the other for women. It was quite packed.

Elizabeth walked up to the counter where a lady stood, marking something down on a sheet of paper. She had to push her way between a large women and her teenage daughter. Harry followed, growing red as the daughter smiled at him.

"Hi Jane," Elizabeth said, grinning and extending a hand.

The woman looked surprised, then she smiled. "E! What are you doing here so soon? Boardies not to your liking?"

Elizabeth laughed. "They weren't for me you twit! They're for Harry over here." She stepped aside, and Harry suddenly found himself at the unwanted attention of Jane, the large women, her daughter, and Elizabeth. Though he didn't much care about the last one.

"Who's this looker!" exclaimed Jane, and Harry grew redder than he ever had before.

"Sheath your paws, cat, that's my brother you're talking about!"

"Ooo, the long lost brother from England. You finally found him did you?"

"Yep!" Elizabeth said happily. Harry had to wonder who else she'd told about him.

"Well I'll say this," said Jane, offering a hand to Harry. Harry took it. "There's certainly a resemblance. But E's uglier."

"That's exactly what I said!" Elizabeth said joyfully. "Although not in those words."

"So what can I do for you today?" asked Jane professionally, after she and Elizabeth had a good laugh.

"Some flip flops for Harry. Just point me in the direction. I have trouble navigating around this place."

"Sure, their on your left, at the back," Jane told them.

"Thanks!" said Elizabeth, taking Harry's hand and dragging him towards the back of the store. The teenage daughter waved at him. Harry, blushing, waved back.

"Take your pick Harry."

Five minutes later they were out of the shop and back in the car with Harry wearing his new sandals. They were brown and joined at the back of his ankle with Velcro.

"Beach time!" said Elizabeth after parking her car on the road near the beach. Harry, again, spotted the tanned surfers. He noticed they were both male and female.

"So where do you want to set up? On the sand, or on the grass? I've got this little tent in the boot, that way our stuff won't get sand on it. Either way is fine with me."

Harry thought for a moment. "On the sand."

"Choice."

They got the tent out of the boot. Harry was surprised to see a surfboard in there as well. Elizabeth took it out. "I'll teach you," she said, grinning. Harry nodded his agreement.

As they walked to the sand Elizabeth said, "It's really easy, Harry. You'll be a natural."

Harry lifted a brow at her.

"You rock on a broom don't you? And surfing isn't much different. You'll pick it up easily."

And so that day, a routine was established. They would wake up, go running, lift weights, and spend the rest of the day on the beach, surfing, or attempting to surf, in Harry's case. It was not at all like flying, as Elizabeth said. Flying he could control. He couldn't control waves. They would sneak up on him sometimes, and he wouldn't be able to surface for about a minute as the current whirled him around. He'd frightened Elizabeth so badly the first time this happened that she wouldn't let him back into the water, until he reminded her he was old enough to swim. Elizabeth conceded after that.

At night they would curl up on the couch with a bucket of ice cream or a bowl of home made popcorn and watch movies. Harry discovered Elizabeth had a particular irony in watching movies about magic and the supernatural, and commenting on how wrong the muggles got it. It was fun for a laugh.

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A/N: There you go, a nice, fun chapter. There won't be too many OC's in this story. And if there are, you'll never see them again. Like Jane, they'll just be a passing acquaintance of Elizabeth's. You have to know about her life, after all, and people make up life.

Review Please.


	6. Fifteen At Last

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. Joss Whedon owns the concept of the Slayer.

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**Chapter Six: Fifteen at last.**

"Twenty five . . . twenty six . . . twenty seven . . . twenty eight . . ."

"Elizabeth?"

"Shh, you're making me loose count . . . thirty . . . thirty one . . . thirty two . . . thirty three . . ."

"You know Elizabeth, you don't need to count the seconds until midnight," said Harry, looking across the dining table to where his sister sat.

Elizabeth did not seem to be paying attention; she was eyeing the watch on her wrist. "Thirty six . . . thirty seven . . . thirty eight . . ."

"It's not that important you know."

Elizabeth finally looked up, her brow furrowed. "How can you say that? It's your birthday Harry! You're turning fifteen, you're practically a man! It's those Dursley's isn't it? They made you think like this!" Harry opened his mouth, but Elizabeth continued, "– and now you made me loose count!" She jerked her gaze back to her watch. " . . . Forty three . . . forty four . . . forty five . . . forty six . . ."

Harry finally gave up trying to convince his sister to stop counting, instead deciding to sit and watch the table. Most people would find this a boring thing to do. After all, what could be interesting about a table? Nothing, Harry would be the first to admit, but he wasn't exactly looking at the table so much as the pile of wrapped-up presents sitting on it. Elizabeth had ordained that he was not to open them until exactly midnight, and so, she had taken to counting the seconds to make sure Harry wouldn't. All the presents currently on the table – six, Harry had counted – were from Elizabeth herself. Hedwig had flown off earlier in the week back to England to wait out Ron, Hermione, and Sirius's presents. She would most likely return sometime during the day.

But Harry didn't doubt Hedwig would dread returning to Number 103 Ocean Crest View because she and Rufus – Elizabeth's cockatoo, the one who had delivered Harry's first letter from Australia – had not thought highly of each other ever since they met. Hedwig deeply disproved of Rufus because of one little incident involving an owl treat. Suffice to say that after Rufus and Hedwig had finished having a go at each other Elizabeth had had to clean up an even worse mess in her living room than what the wayward werewolf had created.

". . . fifty eight . . . fifty nine . . . Midnight!" said Elizabeth, straightening up with a smile on her face. "_Now_ you can open them."

Harry rolled his eyes but proceeded to follow her suggestion. Harry wasn't sure which of them was the more excited as he pulled back the wrapping on his first present, he or Elizabeth. Harry stuck his hand in the cardboard box and pulled out –

"It's a foe glass. It shows your enemies," Elizabeth explained.

Harry nodded, overwhelmed. "I know. I saw one last year."

"Hmm," Elizabeth gave him a side-ways look. "I won't ask where. Unless you went to a Dark Arts shop?"

Harry shook his head, remembering the fake Moody. "No. Professor Moody, or rather, Barty Crouch Junior showed it to me."

Elizabeth nodded, having been told by Dumbledore all about the impostor. "Open the next one then!"

The next few minutes were spent with Harry going through all his packages. He was now the proud owner of a pair of – according to Elizabeth – one hundred dollar sunglasses, his very own surfboard – not hard to guess what it was under the wrapping since it was the biggest thing on the table – a whole bunch of stylish muggle clothes that were comprised of mostly green, black, and red colours ("Had to guess the size," Elizabeth had said, "but I've a fairly good eye.") a camera ("It can take both muggle and magical photographs, so you can take it with you to Hogwarts!" Elizabeth had told him.) And lastly, she got him a . . . "Wow!" he couldn't believe it!

"Isn't it though?" said Elizabeth, observing Harry's awe-filled expression. "I know Dad was an animagus, and I just thought you'd like to follow in his footsteps. Mind you, I had a heck of a time getting my hands on that book. Had to pull a few strings, take back a couple of favours. To become an animagus you have to follow strict Ministry guidelines, after all, which means _they_ distribute the books and the potions, and _they_ watch over you as you go through the process. But that isn't any fun! What's the point of becoming an animal when everyone knows what animal you can become! Nah, much better doing it in secret, that way you and only a select few know. "

Harry was besieged with that all too familiar feeling of gratitude that he'd been having constantly ever since meeting Elizabeth. He reached over across the table and pulled her to him. "Thank you," he mumbled against her shoulder. That seemed to be the only thing he could say. They pulled apart. Elizabeth smiled at him and Harry smiled back, seeing that she understood.

"Well, it's time for bed now, Babe," said Elizabeth, standing up and stretching. "I'll help carry the presents to your room. What's the matter?" she asked after seeing Harry's melancholy expression.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly.

Elizabeth walked around the table to stand in front of him. "What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"It's just . . . you've forgotten to do something."

Elizabeth frowned, as if trying to process that statement. "What?"

Harry grinned cheekily. "You didn't wish me a Happy Birthday!"

The frown vanished as Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed heartily. "I didn't, did I? And after all that counting, too! I'll have to remedy that then. Happy Birthday Harry-poo!" Then she yanked him over and gave him a back-breaking hug followed by a sound kiss on his cheek.

"Urgh!" said Harry after she'd released him. "_Don't_ call me that. Aunt Marge call's Dudely that."

"What, _Harry_-poo?"

"No, _nephy_-poo," Harry mumbled, not having any desire to say the babyish word out loud.

"And who the heck is Aunt Marge?" Elizabeth asked.

"Uncle Vernon's sister."

"And you call her _Aunt_ Marge?"

"They made me," Harry said dully.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.

A while later with his presents safely tucked away in his cupboard, Harry climbed into his bed, and gestured for Elizabeth to sit down.

They sat there in pleasant silence for a while, just sat there and stared at each other. Again, Harry couldn't help marvelling how alike they were, the black hair, the green eyes, the smile. But suddenly, he noticed differences in their faces, subtle ones that he hadn't detected before. Her eyes were just that much tilted at the corners, her lips were just that much fuller than his, her jaw was much more rounded instead of the sharp angles of his face, and her brows were softer somehow, less harsh than his. With a pang somewhere in the region of his chest, Harry finally realised she resembled his mother.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about Mum and Dad?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, offered him a smile, and positioned her body to lie across the bed, so that her head rested in her hand. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

Harry leaned forward, suddenly excited at the thought that here was actually someone who wasn't reluctant to tell him anything and that he wasn't reluctant to ask questions of. Harry had never asked Sirius because he suspected it would drudge up too many bad memories, (plus the fact that they'd only met a couple of times, and those times had all been rushed) but Elizabeth was his sister, she had fared the same as he, they had been her parents, too. Harry didn't have any problem asking her.

"Just stories," he told her. "I know what they were like, sort of. I know Dad was a prankster, good at Quidditch, courageous. Mum was good at charms, brave, and a . . . very nice person," he finished lamely. Maybe he didn't know that much.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I see I'll have to tell you a lot more than I thought . . . but wait a minute!" She sat up abruptly, and scooted off the bed. "I'll be back in a second!" she said, and whizzed out the door.

Harry sat there, wondering what on earth she was doing as he heard sounds begin in the room next door. A lot of which featured banging and cursing noises. At last she came back, told him to move over, plonked herself next to him under the covers, and extended her hand.

Harry saw there was a photograph in it. He took it, eyes growing wide as he eyed the people in it. People that he knew.

"That's our family," said Elizabeth. "It was taken a day before the raid on Hogsmede. I was four, you weren't yet one. That's our house on Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. He saw his mother holding him in her arms, and his Dad standing next to her with Elizabeth sitting on his shoulders, her hands in his hair. They were waving and smiling at the camera. Harry continued watching as his Dad hoisted Elizabeth off of his shoulders and took up Baby Harry while his Mum bent down and hugged Elizabeth around the middle.

"You can keep it," said Elizabeth. "We can make extra copies later."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed to cry, Harry. It's human nature. You know, I bawled my eyes out when I realised you were actually coming, and that we would finally be together after all these years."

Harry lifted his head and looked at Elizabeth, looked as a tear rolled down her cheek, and at last feeling a single tear trickle down his cheek. "Yeah, I know," he told her, then frowned. "Well not about knowing that you bawled your eyes out, but about the other thing."

Elizabeth sniggered. "I know what you mean, Babe. You're just so cute when you're confused. Are you sure you don't have a girlfriend? I'm surprised they're not falling all over you. Those eyes alone ought to do it!"

"Elizabeth!" Harry grumbled, feeling his face turn hot.

"Well it's true! Don't think I don't notice how those girls on the beach eye you, and how that girl in the shop waved at you. You're turning into quite the stud, if I do say so myself! And I couldn't be prouder."

"Right," was all Harry could say.

"So, about our parents . . ."

Harry sat up.

"I can tell you about this funny thing that happened one time when you were barely nine months old and you stole our Father's wand –!"

"I stole his wand?" Harry asked quickly.

She chuckled, "Yeah. He left it on your high chair next to your food when Mum called him out. I was sitting at the table eating . . . well I'm not sure what I was eating actually, but I remember thinking it was really nice . . . and sweet!"

Harry snorted.

Elizabeth shoved him good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah I know. Anyway you'd picked up the wand, and I don't know if you thought it was a spoon or something, but you started digging it in your food and putting it in your mouth. Then you sort of banged it repeatedly against the high chair, and well, it started floating with you in it."

"What?" said Harry, laughing.

"Yeah. You can imagine Dad's reaction when he came back into the kitchen to find you planted on the ceiling. He had to work quickly to get you down before Mum came in."

"And what were you doing the whole time?"

"Laughing of course."

They both smiled. Then Harry felt his spirits drop unpleasantly. Elizabeth, seeing him, frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's just . . . I feel sort of guilty."

"What the heck for?"

"Here I am being all happy and getting presents while back in England people are dying."

Elizabeth held up her hands. "Whoa, hold on a second! Where'd you get that notion? No one's dying!"

"But Voldemort –!"

"Has decided to lay low for a while," Elizabeth told him. "Don't ask me why, that's all I know."

Harry only felt a split second of relief before he processed what his sister had told him. He stared at her suspiciously. "_How_ do you know that? You're all the way across the world. Do you get the Daily Prophet?"

"No, we have our own wizarding paper. But it wouldn't be in the Daily Prophet even if I do get it."

"What? Why?"

"Because no one believes Voldemort is back, Harry. The British Ministry's keeping it all hush hush, or either they don't believe it themselves."

"What!"

Elizabeth nodded sympathetically, took his hand and rubbed it with her own.

"But . . . but if the Ministry is keeping it all secret, and the Daily Prophet isn't printing anything, how do you know . . .?"

"Your headmaster told me. And don't get angry! He has his reasons."

"And what reason is that!" spat Harry, feeling that hot prickle of betrayal spread down his stomach at that familiar statement. "I never get told anything! Before I came here I tried getting my friends to tell me stuff but all they'd write back is 'Dumbledore told us not to say!' or 'We'll tell you later!' or 'Dumbledore has his reasons!' _Why_ can't I know anything! And why do you know? Why didn't you tell me anything? YOU'RE JUST LIKE THEM!"

Elizabeth released his hand and scuttled back, looking wounded. "Well maybe," she said, stressing the word maybe, "if you _think_ before you open your mouth and _wait_ before I finish what I have to say, you would discover that I know about as much as you!" She looked away, breathing heavily.

She stood up suddenly. "Good night, Harry," she mumbled, still not looking at him. Her words sounded horribly exact. "Don't forget to meditate." She walked out of his room, closing the door gently behind her.

Harry winced; he would have preferred for her to slam it shut. He groaned, flinging back onto the pillows. He'd done it now. He'd been angry with the one person who didn't deserve it. Guilt swarmed in his stomach as he remembered her calling him "Harry." She only did that now when she was serious about something, or, as Harry discovered a couple of minutes ago, when she was angry with him. The rest of the time she just called him "Babe."

And he had about as much chance of meditating now as being forgiven. He remembered how she'd taught him to clear his mind in preparation for Occulmency. He had felt a bit stupid at first, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He'd had the inclination to go "_Hommmmm!_" but after a while he'd stopped thinking it was stupid and discovered that it was actually peaceful when he did it right. But he couldn't possibly achieve that peace now. Why did he have to be such a git? He looked at the photograph still clutched in his hand, looked at Elizabeth's smiling face. He carefully placed it on his nightstand, took off his glasses and placed those on there too, then he pulled the covers up over his head. He knew he was acting childish but he couldn't seem to help himself. He had felt rather like the chastised child when Elizabeth had said those words. He punched his pillow. Some birthday he was having.

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Across the continents, and add a couple of big important oceans in between, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasely sat on the floor of his room – soon to be shared with Harry Potter – discussing all mundane things from the Chudley Cannons ("Do we have to talk about Quidditch Ron!") to Mrs Weasely's fudge (Don't talk with your mouth full!") But it was the subject of the Boy-Who-Lived that got them finally talking and acting seriously.

Presently, Hermione tied the last present (a box of Mrs Weasely's homemade fudge) onto Hedwig's leg, then both she and Ron watched Pigwidgeon and Hedwig fly out of the window and disappear into the sunny horizon.

"I'm really worried about him Ron," said Hermione, turning to face her russet-haired friend. "He hasn't written to us or Sirius for an entire week. You don't think he's _really_ angry do you?"

Ron, who was presently stuffing his mouth with a slice of the same homemade fudge as they'd just sent Harry, said, "Woonnmwarrrbaart!"

Hermione looked at him, disgusted. "_What?_"

Ron gulped down the last of the fudge. "I said I wouldn't worry about it. It's not like Harry to back out of something when he sets his mind to it. He's probably just doing homework or something."

Hermione, however, frowned. "I don't believe that."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe he's given up trying to get answers out of us. It's not like we tell him anything useful!" he said, plopping another piece of fudge into his mouth.

Hermione pursed her lips. "That's because we don't _know_ anything useful!"

Ron, who was about to answer with a full mouth, promptly swallowed on Hermione's look, "That's what I'm saying. Maybe Harry's realised that."

"It's not like Harry to be so insightful."

"And it's not like you to be so –" Ron stopped at the look on Hermione's face.

"Yes," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Er, well . . . you're just reading too much in to it, Hermione."

"Well someone has to. It's obvious _you_ don't care!"

"He's my best friend!" said Ron angrily.

There was a pause.

Hermione slumped slightly. "Sorry!" she said shortly.

Ron looked down as well. "Yeah, me too."

Mrs Weasley's voice came then, thundering through the floorboards. "Come down you lot! Lunch is ready! _NO!_ FRED! GEORGE! GIVE ME THOSE!" There were a few banging, cluttering noises, followed by a scraping sound.

Fred and George's muffled voices sounded from the bottom of the stairs.

"Aww _Mum_!"

"We spent ages working on those!"

A bout of furious whispering followed George's words; a minute later the twins could be heard marching up the stairs to the room above Ron's.

"Sound's like Mum's finally found the Extendable Ears," said Ron, gloomily.

"Don't look so depressed, Ron. I'm sure Fred and George have more than one pair. And you can't be sure that's what she's found, they have other products, remember?"

Ron cheered up considerably. "Shall we go down then? I think Mum made Shepherd's Pie."

They both walked out of the room and into the corridor, almost colliding with Ginny, who'd been about to go down the stairs. "Did you hear Mum yelling at Fred and George?" she asked as the trio made their way downstairs. "Stupid idiots! Of course she's going to find out about the Ears if they leave them hanging out their pockets. They should be glad she doesn't know what they're for!"

"You mean doesn't know what they're for _yet_," stressed Ron, looking pointedly at Hermione, who only rolled her eyes.

"Hello Professor."

They had just opened the door of the basement to find Professor Lupin sitting at the dinning table reading the Daily Prophet. "Kids," he said, nodding at them. They settled themselves around the table. Soon, Kingsley, Tonks, Charlie, and Sirius filed into the room, followed by Mrs Weasely levitating a plate of Shepherd's Pie (much to Ron's delight) and a bucket of drumsticks, (to Ron's even greater delight). Bill trailed in after her clutching a gigantic flagon of butterbeer and a loaf of bread. Fred and George did not show up at all through the entire length of the meal.

As they finished off their dessert (left over fudge and a freshly baked apple crumble) Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace.

"Good afternoon everyone," he said. The adults at the table sat up in concern, but that quickly turned to confusion when Dumbledore said, "Ron, Hermione, might I have a word in the next room."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, bewildered. But they couldn't help wondering if the reason they were summoned had anything to do with Harry. They stood up from the table, ignoring Mrs Weasley's curious look, and Sirius furrowed brow, and followed Dumbledore into the kitchen.

"Is anything wrong Professor?" asked Hermione as she and Ron came to stand in front of Dumbledore, who'd positioned himself by the sink.

"Is it Harry?" asked Ron.

"Partly," said the Headmaster, staring at each in turn, and making them more than a little jittery. "Harry will be coming to stay at Grimmauld Place shortly."

Hermione and Ron turned to each other, smiling. They had thought this to be the case. Dumbledore, seeing the exchange, smiled also. "However," he continued seriously, and Ron and Hermione stopped smiling. "He has been through a lot, as you know. I ask you to be understanding of him. Do not judge him on his emotions alone."

"I knew it! I knew he was angry with us!" Hermione exclaimed, then blushed at Ron's gaped look, and Dumbledore's light, knowing smirk. She cleared her throat. "Of course we won't Professor. We understand, don't we Ron?"

"Er, oh yea, sure. 'Course we do, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled. "Wonderful! Remember; be certain to offer him a lot of support. He will need you throughout the year."

They both nodded earnestly.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'll be seeing the both of you sometime soon I expect. In the meantime I must get back to Hogwarts. Still haven't chosen the new prefects, you know." He stared particularly long at Hermione as he said this.

Hermione, catching the look, tried not to grin. Ron was, as usual, oblivious.

"All right Professor," he said. "I'll just go back to my apple crumble then."

Hermione fought extra hard not to step on Ron's foot.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Good day to you."

They followed Dumbledore out the kitchen door, observing as he declined the offer of dessert and skilfully avoided various questions, before flooing away. The two friends went to their seats and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

Everyone, especially Mrs Weasely, was staring curiously at them.

"What was that all about then?" asked Tonks.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, as though conferring with each other. Ron shook his head slightly, his eyes wide. Hermione nodded, and thought quickly. "Just a problem with our new booklists."

Sirius frowned at this.

"There seems to be a lot of problems with your booklists lately," he said, darkly. "Harry had trouble with his about a week ago."

"Oh," said Hermione, feeling stumped.

Ron glanced alarmingly at her. "Professor McGonagall must have forgotten to add something to Harry's then, too."

Hermione looked gratefully at him.

Sirius grunted, his gaze flitting suspiciously between the two friends. "I hardly think that a problem with your booklist qualifies the Headmaster arriving personally to see to it, as opposed to your Head of House who sent the booklists out in the first place, and so, has first hand knowledge of what she'd done wrong." He glanced slyly at them from the corner of his eye.

There was a nasty silence. Sirius had loaded that statement with enough shrewd cynicism, that no one could possibly mistake his meaning.

Hermione was at loss for words. "Well, w-we were just . . . that is to say. . ." She looked to Ron for assistance.

Ron, who had always been the most vocal, as well as the most insensitive of the trio, decided the questioning was getting on his nerves. "Look," he said, very punctually, sounding, for a moment, quite impressive and mature. "What was said stays between Professor Dumbledore and us. It's not that important anyway."

"But it does have something to do with Harry, doesn't it?" said Sirius. He sounded as though he was struggling to keep from shouting.

"Yes, but it's kids stuff, best friend stuff."

"So Harry's written to you then?" Sirius asked, his eyes flickering momentarily downwards. He had taken it personally when his Godson had stopped writing to him, especially since Harry had been sending them demanding owls all summer, but Sirius seemed to have forgotten that Harry had stopped writing to everyone, too, and that he hadn't even been seen to step foot outside 4 Private Drive in seven days, according to the Order Guards Dumbledore posted to keep watch. But this information was not obliging to Sirius. According to Professor Lupin, Sirius believed he'd made Harry angry with him for not providing sufficient explanations as to what was happening in the world outside Private Drive.

Ron shook his head. "No," he said simply, not realising he'd possibly saved Sirius some future self-recrimination. "He hasn't written to anyone. Dumbledore just said to look out for him when he comes to stay." Ron was stretching the truth a bit here, but Sirius didn't need to know that.

"_If_, you mean," Sirius said, slightly mollified.

"No," Hermione injected, looking happy. "Dumbledore said he's coming to stay really soon."

"When!" almost everyone shouted, the prominent of which were Mrs Weasely and Sirius.

"We don't know _when_?" snapped Ron, with great pleasure. He wasn't the only one who hadn't been pleased when the adults had refused to tell him and the others about what was going on in the Order. He felt they deserved a bit of payback now, even though Ron, in truth, did not actually know when Harry was coming.

Mrs Weasely was among the prominent who looked disappointed at Ron's statement. Sirius stared at the table.

"Well," said Kingsley. "I know I'd love to be part of his guard when it's time to collect him."

Ron snorted. "Good luck with his relatives then!"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished. But everyone was chuckling at Ron's statement. They had all heard about the infamous Dursley's from some source or other (but it could be said by most of them that Fred and George were the contributors of nearly all the gossip)

"I'd like to come too," said Tonks, leaning across the table slightly. "Finally get to meet The-Boy-Who-Lived. Mum's going to be jealous."

"He's not that special," said Ron. "For a bloke who can't even do a proper Cheering Charm, he sure has a lot of fans."

Nearly everyone laughed at the double meaning behind the joke, and the discussion soon turned to other things. Hermione and Ron left, not noticing the pairs of piercing amber and ebony eyes following in their wake.

Hermione shut the door to Ron's room, but not before peering out the corridor to see if anyone had followed them.

"That was close," she said. "Good thinking Ron."

Ron drew himself up slightly. "Thanks."

"So we're not going to badger him when he arrives, even if he might be a bit . . . annoyed."

Ron nodded. "Right."

"We'll listen to what he has to say, and offer support. Like Dumbledore said."

"I just hope he's not _that_ mad at us. But it's got to be horrible being stuck there. I bet they locked him in his room again, and put bars on his windows, and that's why he hasn't written."

"No, Hedwig came to us, remember. I think he's annoyed, or angry with us."

"Maybe he's just forgotten to write?" offered Ron.

"He can't possibly have, with the way he was harassing us with letters nearly every day . . ."

Ron shrugged. "You never know Hermione. You're the one who's fond of saying boys are thick."

Hermione only tutted.

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Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron was actually the one who'd gotten it right. Harry _had_ forgotten to write to his friends and Sirius the entire week he'd been Australia because too much new and exciting stuff had been happening. Now he sat in the living room the night after he and Elizabeth had their disagreement. Hedwig and Pig, having just arrived, sat perched on the coffee table. His friend's presents were spread out on the couch, and only now did Harry remember he'd forgotten to write, and he felt exceedingly guilty over it. This guilt already added to the pile he'd acquired last night; the pile that had yet to diminish.

Because Harry had not had a chance to properly speak to Elizabeth at all that day.

He saw her, of course. Breakfast was waiting for him as always when he woke up, as was Elizabeth. But there was a definite tenseness in the air, of formality, that he'd never before experienced in Elizabeth's presence. Everything was always fun and games and that feeling of "I've known you all my life." But that was gone now. In its place was left, "May I please have the milk?" He hated it. Plus, she'd gone running without him. Harry had felt sour at this, and not a little betrayed. That was _their_ time together, but she'd gone off by herself before Harry had even woken up.

And after breakfast she'd gone off again; gone out of the house to who knows where and now, at six o'clock at night, she had still not come back. With any other person Harry cared for, he would have been extremely worried, but he knew Elizabeth, despite being a witch, was also one of the strongest magical creatures in the world, and resourceful besides. But that still hadn't stopped him from peering out the front windows and sitting on the steps beside the front door, waiting for her to arrive.

He'd briefly entertained the thought of there being some huge Dark Creature catastrophe that needed her help, but in his heart he'd known that wasn't the reason.

Harry reached over on the couch and began to unwrap his presents. Ron and Hermione had gotten him two boxes of Honeydukes best chocolate and Mrs Weasely had made him some fudge. Hermione had scribbled _I expect we'll be seeing you soon_, in his birthday card. Harry silently laughed at that. He already knew when he'd be seeing them, the precise date in fact. Seven days from now. He noticed, however, that she hadn't told him _where_ he would be seeing them, but Harry knew this too, thanks to Dumbledore. He knew that both Ron and Hermione were staying at Sirius's house, where, apparently, a group of mysterious people gathered every once a while to plot against Voldemort.

Harry opened Sirius's present last. It was a card with a single ink paw print on it, and underneath that was the exclamation _Happy Birthday!_ Somehow, Harry cherished this present above all the ones he'd gotten so far, even Elizabeth's. Evidently Sirius could not stroll into a shop and buy stuff as he was thought to be an escaped mass murderer, but still he found the time to actually do something for Harry. But it did make him wonder how Sirius had bought his previous presents. Like the knife he'd gotten last Birthday. Suddenly, Harry felt an overwhelming admiration for his Godfather, and he had to fight the hotness behind his eyes at the unfairness life could offer. He wished Sirius were with him now. He would even settle for Snuffles, as long as he had some company.

It was then Harry heard the opening and closing of the front door. He hastily bought his shirt up to his eyes. He turned and saw Elizabeth standing in the corridor in front of the living room, draped in her usual paint-smeared overalls. Harry wondered, for the first time, why her overalls were smeared with paint. Every time she wore them, there always seemed to be more stains of colour on them than before.

A moment of silence stretched between them as they stared at each other awkwardly. Then Elizabeth bit her lip, looking everywhere but at the couch. Finally, not being able to take any more tension, Harry patted the cushion next to him. A timid smile crossed her face as she walked over and sat down beside him.

"I see your friends have sent you the presents," she observed, ringing her hands together.

Harry had not seen her look so flustered before. She seemed almost nervous.

"Yeah," he said, not really thinking about it.

They both sat in silence for a while. Harry giving surreptitious glances in her direction, while she avoided them.

"I'm sorry!" They finally blurted.

Laughter ensued.

"I'll go first," said Elizabeth.

Harry nodded.

"I shouldn't have reacted like that. I have a temper when I'm accused of lying." She turned to look imploringly into his eyes. "And I wasn't lying to you Harry, I swear. I really _don't_ know anything. Not much reaches us here in Australia, and we're not really concerned with much. Dumbledore only told me about how nobody believes Voldemort is back, and how he's reformed the Order or something."

At Harry's confused look, she elaborated. "The people who fought against Voldemort during the first war. That's honestly all I know. It's just; maybe, I'm not used to having a family. I'm not used to dealing with teenage boys. I'm not sure how it all works."

"You and be both," said Harry, smiling.

"And I'm so sorry I acted cold toward you today, and went running without you, and left you alone until night time. But, I have a very good reason, you see. I would have taken you with me if we hadn't had that fight. But I just felt so . . ."

Harry timidly bit his lip. "Angry at me?"

"No! Never!" she exclaimed passionately. "Angry at myself! You're younger than I am, and I should have had the presence of mind to act more mature, or something." She threw her arms up. "I don't know how to explain it!"

"I understand."

"So am I forgiven?" she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

"Of course! But you have to hear me out first, I got angry –!"

"No, there's no need to explain. You're a teenage boy. I think you can be excused."

"But I am sorry . . . D-do you forgive me?"

In answer Elizabeth reached over and pulled him into a gentle embrace. "Of course," she whispered against his ear. "Oh look at us. We've both become a pair of blubber brains."

"I haven't!" cried Harry indignantly.

"Well then, I suppose I can be enough of a blubber brain for the both of us."

"Elizabeth, what did you mean when you said you would have taken me with you? Where have you been?"

A mischievous smile crossed his sister's face. "Working."

Harry couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he heard of this before? "You have a job!"

She shrugged, "Kind of, it's volunteer work, don't get paid. But it keeps my nights busy. I can't be slaying all the time, you know. Anyway, I just finished. Do you wanna see?"

She stood up, extending her hand. Harry took it. "Finished what?"

"You'll see." Elizabeth giggled, pulling him up and dragging him across the living room. "Hello Sigmund!"

Sigmund the Blearglob had scuttled into the room. Elizabeth stooped down briefly to give him a fond pat on the head, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

"He really likes you Harry. I've never seen him take to anyone that wasn't a Slayer. But, you're related to me, so I guess that's how it works."

Harry smiled as he put a hand to the Blearglob's shiny head. He felt the familiar smoothness of it as Sigmund leaned into his hand. Harry had often had such encounters with Sigmund and Emma throughout the week he'd stayed with Elizabeth. They couldn't exactly be avoided since they had free reign of the house. Harry thought back to the time he'd almost sat on Sigmund once, only to get a pinch on the bottom. It had only briefly pained, since Sigmund hadn't been trying to hurt him, only warn him that he was already taking up that particular space on the couch.

Sigmund pulled away from Harry's pat, apparently deciding he had dealt with enough humans, and scurried away to the couch, climbing up the side, and settling himself on a cushion.

Hedwig, of course, had disproved of Sigmund since she'd first clapped eyes on him. Harry had a feeling it was because Sigmund was equipped with his own pair of weapons; two sharp claws. Hedwig would eye them mistrustfully every time Sigmund came into the room. And she did so now from her spot on the coffee table. Pig, however, became excited at spotting the lobster, and he whizzed around the head of the couch. If Harry wasn't mistaken, he would think that Sigmund was glaring up the minute owl. Hedwig settled her disproving gaze on Pig as well.

"Let's leave them," Elizabeth whispered, chuckling. They walked down the corridor and out the door. "You know, I've been thinking we should have another pet around the house. The more the merrier I say."

At those words Harry almost tripped down the stone stairs of the front porch. Elizabeth hadn't noticed, as she was busy trying to lock the door. Harry couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the Bunyip! It was exactly a week since he'd first visited Wrigadoogong and met it there. Perhaps he should buy it for Elizabeth? He'd told the shopkeeper he'd come back in a week after all.

"Can we go to Wrigadoogong after you show me whatever it is?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. "I suppose. But, maybe we ought to bring a change of robes. Wouldn't do to walk about in muggle clothes, that only leads to uncomfortable stares."

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Next chapter: Bunyip, and other cool stuff that I won't reveal just yet.

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**To answer the questions I got in reviews. **

**Q1. What pairings will this story have?**

None, besides what's usually in the books. Elizabeth will not fall in love with anybody and vice versa.

**Q2. Why did I decide to change this to Buffy Crossovers if there's nothing about Buffy in it?**

For three reasons. The first was because it's easily accessible to readers; much easier than on Books where it has a tendency to get lost admits the thousands of other stories. The second was because it does have the Slayer concept in it, and after some evaluation on my part, I was forced to change it since I don't know if I'm susceptible to being sued or not. The third was because I want more reviews. And since stories _are_ easier to find on Buffy Crossovers than on Books, I do get more reviews. More constructive criticism helps boost my confidence in writing.

However, if you guys think I should change it back to Books, because now I'm feeling a bit stupid having changed it to Buffy Crossovers when there's no Buffdom, I will. Just let me know.

P.S. I'm not usually so fickle.

**Q3. And the reason I picked the name Elizabeth when it's so synonymous with Buffy?**

To me, Harry and James are old English names, as is Lily to a certain extent. Not to mention they're really common. Elizabeth is an old English name, plus quite common in Britain. That's the only reason I picked it. If Lily and James really had a daughter, they wouldn't name her something like Raven or Rain or some other inapt Americanised name. (No offence if that's your name. I actually like unusual names, but they're not appropriate for someone like Harry Potter's sister). To me, and I'm sure to a lot of you, that just screams Mary Sue.

And no, Elizabeth is NOT Buffy Summers. For one, they come from completely different cultures, (as well as universes if you want to get technical) and for another, they look entirely different. I hope that's cleared up now.

**Q4. Elizabeth's age?**

She was born on March 19th 1976 (as Dumbledore explained in chapter three), which would make her nineteen, four years older than Harry and as old as Percy.

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Review Please.


	7. Attack

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. I do not own the concept of the Slayer, Joss Whedon Does.

**Chapter Seven: Attack.**

The car radio blared erratically as the tunnel swallowed the vehicle. Considering the radio had been turned on full blast, this was nigh on damaging to the eardrums.

Elizabeth winced painfully at the noisily buzzing static and turned the knob on the radio so that it now displayed _off_. "Sorry about that!"

Harry took this as a sign to remove his palms from over his ears, deciding instead to glare forcefully at his sister.

Elizabeth grimaced at his heated look, and spent the rest of the drive under the tunnel staring determinedly at the road.

"So," Harry finally asked after the _Eunos_ shot out of the tunnel, the night sky glaringly obvious from under the open hood. "Where are we going again?"

"You really are fascinated with the sky, aren't you Babe?"

Harry snapped his head from his perusal of the sky to stare uncomprehendingly at Elizabeth.

She snorted. "You're not even paying attention to what you're saying!" her hand performed a sort of flick upwards. "You were just staring straight up. What's so interesting up there anyway?" She positioned her chin to hang precariously over the wheel, peering up with her brow furrowed, as if she were trying to spot something mysterious.

"The stars," Harry proclaimed, completely truthfully. "It's just that the night sky . . . it's different back in England."

"Ahh, I see now," said Elizabeth, nodding understandingly. "That would be because England is in the northern hemisphere, whereas Australia is in the southern – OY!"

Harry had just shoved her. "I know that!" he exclaimed. "I'm not completely stupid! It's just, it looks really strange when you stare up and see that the sky just doesn't look right somehow . . . I don't know." He looked up again to demonstrate his point.

"Yeah, well I can't say I've had that feeling . . . though I probably will when we move to England next week."

Harry nodded, still staring at the stars. It was strange not to see the familiar twinkles that he'd got to know partially well in Astronomy, thanks to Professor Vector. He especially missed seeing Sirius. Both the star and his godfather.

"So you want to know where we're going." Elizabeth reiterated.

Harry turned back to look at his sister, this time determined to pay her more attention. Little did he realise what an adorable picture he made as he sat there amongst the leather interior of the expensive convertible, displaying his new designer jeans, red pullover, and leather jacket (collar up), his coal black hair looking gorgeously windswept and his emerald eyes appearing far too mysterious and far too unjustly pretty for a boy's. At least, that was what Elizabeth was thinking. If she hadn't been his sister . . . She chuckled inwardly. It was really not difficult at all to love Harry. He just made it so easy. All one had to do was look into those sorrowful eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world and BAM! They were hooked. And it also helped that it seemed he truly did not realise just how beautiful he was. Inside and out. Incredibly, this only made him more appealing. Elizabeth was truly flummoxed as to why he'd never had a girlfriend before. Maybe girls in England were stupid? She shrugged dismissively. Whatever it was it didn't matter. He was her family now and that was the most important thing. That, and the fact that she positively loved showing him off. She had discovered, quite by accident, that it was a weakness of hers; a weakness that she didn't mind being in the least exploited.

"Of course I want to know!" Harry now exclaimed. "Haven't I been asking for the passed ten minutes –!"

"Playground!" Elizabeth drawled, glancing between his face and the road, her left brow lifted a touch outrageously.

Harry's brows creased. He cocked his head to the side, and blinked once. "Sorry?"

"Playground!" she explained, her voice not being able to contain her excitement. "We're going to a children's playground."

Harry, if possible, looked even more confused. "Why?"

"Because that's where I do my volunteer work, Dummy!"

"Oh . . . right then . . ." Harry appeared to shrug a little before settling his gaze once more on the sky.

A little while later they grew tired of staring - Harry at the sky, Elizabeth at the road – and they decided to focus their attentions on more agreeable observations, namely each other. After a couple of minutes of sly scrutiny on Elizabeth's part, she realised a few things about her brother that she'd never acknowledged before; such as, he could do with a piercing in his right ear, or a perhaps a more stylish cut than what he was currently sporting. Or the fact that contacts might finally persuade all those dim-witted chits at Hogwarts to recognise their past transgressions and actually acknowledge his studliness? Perhaps, as his sister, she was just biased? Elizabeth sighed dully. She really needed to stop analysing him and get a life.

Harry on the other hand was thinking about only one thing; and it wasn't a very good thing. In fact it was downright depressing. He'd just previously had the thought that Elizabeth was fully grown, no doubt had many boyfriends already and would have plenty more, and that she might actually marry one of the "plenty mores" that she was likely to have. Where would that leave Harry? He'd just found his only remaining family besides the Dursley's . . . and Sirius, and it was likely he'd only have her for a couple more years – three at the most – before she met a bloke, settled down, had children, and forgot all about him. And that was liable to happen because Elizabeth had to have children if she was to pass on the Slayer duty. There was no discounting it. It wasn't fair!

"Here we are! The playground! Otherwise known as The Children's Battlefield for all those disproving mothers who want to relax every once in a while." Elizabeth had parked the car in front of a large park. The multiple swings, swirly slides and jungle jims were faintly shadowed due to the dim overhead streetlights, of which there was only two. There also resided a large brick wall that ran along the perimeter of the entire right-hand side of the park. There was something on it. It was hard to make out what it was in the dark, but as they walked closer Harry could finally see –

He stared in amazement. His sister had done _that_? All by herself?

"It's a mural," Elizabeth explained, unnecessarily. "Took me ages to finish. The great thing was that the local Council didn't care how long I took, as long as the finished product was good. They said they didn't care what I painted as long as it was interesting. I told them it was going to be more than interesting, it was going to be di-vine! And I think it's turned out that way, don't you? If you don't, it's alright, I understand. Just give me your honest opinion."

"Right," was all Harry could say. He hadn't really understood what she'd been prattling about; he had been and still was, too busy staring at the wall.

It was a Quidditch match. Elizabeth had painted a Quidditch match. In it's full wizardly glory. Complete with fourteen players, each riding Firebolts. There were the usual two bludgers, quaffle, and he even spotted a golden snitch hovering in the corner of a goalpost. A large crowd, comparable to the one he'd seen last year at the Quidditch World Cup, was also depicted. In fact, if Harry didn't know better, he would say Elizabeth had painted last year's World Cup match. Did that seeker have a hooked nose? And were those Veela? This painting alone was in serious breach of "sub-section 36 of the muggle bylaw" something or other.

Harry cleared his throat and gestured hesitantly at the wall. "Isn't that illegal though? I mean, showing this to the muggles."

Elizabeth shrugged off his concern. "_They_ don't know it's real, do they? Besides, it's a place for kid's to hang out. All children believe in magic Harry. They'll love this."

"And . . . um . . . I couldn't help noticing . . . that you painted last year's World Cup . . ."

Elizabeth turned her head slowly to stare at him. Her expression could only be called surprised. "How the heck did you know that? Unless . . . don't tell me you were there as well!"

Harry only had time to nod slightly before she squealed, her mouth open in shock. "I cannot _believe_ you were there too! And I missed you! Damn it all backwards and forwards! I could have passed you by without knowing! You have to tell me where you visited. Did you go the stall where that guy was selling Quidditch magazines?"

Harry shook his head, still staring amusingly at her bout of annoyed and unwarranted anger.

"Well . . . damn! That's the only one I visited. I didn't have time to go anywhere else, you see. I came just before the game, and left straight after. I shouldn't have though. I should have stayed and beaten those Death Eaters. . . If I'd have known . . ."

"Yeah, that was horrible," Harry said. "They were torturing this muggle family that lived there . . ." he trailed off at the look on Elizabeth's face.

"You were there?" she asked, seeming shocked.

"It was all happening near our tent," he explained in his defence. "I couldn't _not_ be there."

She stared at him for a couple more moments. "Trouble seems to follow you like the plague, Harry," she said dryly.

Harry smiled sheepishly.

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"Got your broom Babe? You better, cause I'm gonna lock the boot . . . starting . . . now!" She turned the key and locked it. "Let's go then."

They were currently at the back entrance of Wrigadoogong, having arrived some fifteen minutes ago. The reason why they'd taken so long to get going was because they'd had to change into their robes. Elizabeth claimed she had absolutely no idea how to transfigure clothes, as all wizards didn't apparently, unless you were Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or someone equally powerful. ("Why do you think we have Gladrags and the like?" she'd asked, rhetorically.) They had then taken a turn changing in the back seat of the _Eunos,_ with the hood up, of course. Harry had changed into his ordinary black school robes, while Elizabeth looked like she'd walked out of Ancient Greece, in dark purple robes complete with corked sandals. If the dress of the other wizards Harry saw in Wrigadoogong was anything to go by, he knew he would, again, be the one singled out.

Elizabeth walked up to the round, metal gate, that, Harry could now see, was disguised as the entrance to a sewer, and tapped on it three times with her wand. It swung open.

She looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "Ready?"

Five minutes later Harry once again found himself standing in the holding area of The Wormhole. A small wizard with crazy brown hair shuffled to them and snatched the brooms out of their grasps. "A Firebolt, my word. That _is_ an expensive broom," he mumbled, before scurrying back to toss their brooms against the sanded wall where a lot of other broomsticks could be found, some lying crookedly in a pile on the ground.

Elizabeth, seeing Harry's horrified expression, assured him. "Nothing will happen to them. They're magically reinforced after all."

He nodded, relieved.

"So where do you want to go? It's your ticket!"

"The pet store."

"The pet store it is! Onwards!"

They entered the fourth tunnel across. They bypassed a potion's supply store that read "Pockmark's Potions Supplies," a luggage store with the name "Leafgood's Leathery Lollings," and a secondhand store that bore "Odds and Ends," as the heading, before finally reaching the pet store, which read "Pets: M&M."

"M&M?" asked Harry, who hadn't noticed the name the first time he'd ventured into it.

"Magical and Muggle," Elizabeth explained. "Or is it, Muggle and Magical?" She shrugged dismissively and entered the store, Harry followed behind her.

The middle-aged owner of the store, who'd been the first Australian wizard Harry had spoken to, was currently engaged in a conversation at the counter with an elderly witch, which gave Harry the time and excuse to drag Elizabeth over to the Bunyip cages, finally stopping in front of the shaggy black Bunyip he'd become acquainted with a week ago. It was sleeping again, its furry head buried in its tiny arms.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. "It's a cute little Bunyip," she observed. "I'd name her Runamuck, if she were mine. Muck for short."

Harry stared at her, completely baffled as to why and how she'd chosen that name.

Elizabeth, seeing his questioning look, shrugged. "It just came to me."

"Well I'm buying her," Harry said. "We can share responsibility of looking out for her."

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. "You mean she'll be _ours_? As in yours and mine? Not just mine and not just yours? But _ours_?

"Yeah," Harry said simply.

"Oh," Elizabeth said, her voice trembling. Her eyes watered.

Harry grew alarmed. What had he done?

"Oh you didn't do anything," she said, interpreting the look of alarm on his face. She flapped a hand and sniffled. "It's just, I . . . oh it doesn't matter. Girl stuff. Let's buy her."

Harry nodded, thoroughly relieved. "Okay."

They approached the counter just as the elderly witch walked off, having finished with her purchases.

"Welcome to Pets: M&M." The shop employer said. "How can I help you this fine evening – hey it's you. G'day mate! So, I take it by your presence that you want to buy that Bunyip?"

Harry nodded. "Yes Sir."

The shopkeeper could barely contain his excitement. He seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Wonderful! Wonderful! I'll just let her out of the cage then, and give you the food list – recommendation for all our customers you understand, and you'll be free to go!" He paused, and seemed to reconsider. "After you pay for your animal, of course," he added hastily.

Harry and Elizabeth exchanged amused looks.

Harry nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Of course."

The shopkeeper chattered constantly as he walked around the bench and to the cages. "And who's this lovely young lady? Relation of yours I take it? Sister perhaps? Ah, here we are." He pulled out a key from his robes. "I'll just unlock it . . ." He inserted the key in the lock and turned it. Nothing happened. "Ah . . . now . . . that's not supposed to . . . hmm . . . well that _was_ unexpected . . . must be rusted inside." The shopkeeper bent over and peered through the hole in the lock of the cage door. The Bunyip, incredibly, had still not woken up. "I don't understand . . . it worked this morning . . . had to give her food you know."

Elizabeth smirked as Harry sniggered. He cleared his throat. "Why don't you just use Alohamora?" he asked the rattled man, who was currently scratching his head.

"What's that? The unlocking charm? Can't do that. It's specially warded over, the cage I mean. Otherwise any old farmer can come in and steal my animals."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling embarrassed at his slight.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth injected, her tone dry, "you've used the wrong key?"

The shopkeeper blinked, then looked down at the key in his hand. "So I have," he said, sounding surprised. He dug through his robes and brandished a new one, almost identical to the first key. He inserted it in the lock. They all heard a click. The shopkeeper breathed a sigh of relief, and threw them a quick smile before scooping up the sleeping Bunyip, who'd finally woken at being lifted.

"Here you go," said the shopkeeper, depositing the yawning Bunyip in Harry's arms, before toddling off to the counter again. Presently, the Bunyip opened her dark sapphire eyes to stare straight into Harry's brilliant green ones. She squealed, sounding almost identical to Elizabeth, and immediately wrapped her little arms around his neck. Harry couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Elizabeth smiled seeing him.

At the other end of the store the shopkeeper cleared his throat, his meaning unmistakable.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes playfully. "I'll pay for Muck. You go and explore The Wormhole. Do you know where the ice cream shop is?"

Harry nodded, blinking, because Runamuck had stolen his glasses and placed them over her eyes. He stole them back. "In the first tunnel isn't it?"

"Yep," Elizabeth said staring at him. "Are you sure you'll be able to handle her?"

"Oh shut up," said Harry, to his sister's chortling.

"Well anyway, meet me in the ice cream shop."

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As Harry made his way out of the fourth tunnel towards the first he had to allow that "Runamuck" was certainly an appropriate name for the Bunyip he'd just acquired. Harry could only think that she must have been cooped up too long in that squishy metal cage. As soon they'd arrived at the landing, she'd struggled in his arms until he was forced to put her down, and now she scrambled this way and that, sniffing at people's shoes, causing a little girl to shriek and her mother to look on in disproval, and finally, after examining a pair of hairy legs endorsed with sandals that came up to the knees, she teetered off into the Dark tunnel.

Harry blinked. His Bunyip hadn't just gone into that evil tunnel; the one Dumbledore went to, the one that reminded him so much of Knockturn Alley . . .? Harry sighed, and glancing about him to see if anyone was looking, he dashed into the shadowed tunnel. It was completely dark. He could barely see in front of him. He took out his wand, then put it away again. He didn't dare light it. Why wasn't there any –? Of course!

He cleared his throat. "Turn yourselves on would you? I don't fancy having to walk in the dark."

A jabbering noise came directly before a faint blue light shone dimly from overhead, just enough so that he could see where he was stepping.

_Thank you Dumbledore!_

Harry looked around him, wondering at the emptiness of the tunnel. He peered at the incredibly dimly lit shops that resided on either side of him. They seemed to be made of polished rock that looked like it'd moulded over the centuries. Harry noticed, creepily, that as he moved onwards the lichens he passed under would stave off their light, becoming dark and anonymous once again. Where was Muck?

A noise in front alerted him and he shuffled quickly forward. A few meters in front he saw Muck, or the outline of Muck, squatting in between a shop that bore the apt name of "Dark Arts Books," and another that read "Ryne's Rare Retractables." Muck appeared to be sniffing at the ground, she moved long, continuing to sniff until her snout reached the open doorway of "Ryne's Rare Retractables." Harry dashed forward and scooped her up before she could make her way in. If this was the sort of trouble he expected from her in the future . . .

Talking alerted him to the fact that the shop was currently occupied. He scrambled back against the wall of the shop.

". . . isn't all that difficult, Mr Ryne. Just toddle off to the storage space and get it!"

Harry froze at the voice drifting out of the open door; a voice Harry was all too familiar with. It was impossible for that voice to be here, in Australia, of all places, but it was unmistakable. Harry shuffled in closer in order to hear better. Surely it wasn't _him_? It just couldn't be. It was simply impossible. It would mean that anywhere Harry went he couldn't be rid of him . . . it was just too horrible.

Harry peered over the rim of the door. His heart sank. He hadn't been mistaken. There were two men standing in the store. A small man with black, knotted hair was positioned behind the counter and an equally black-haired, not to mention sallow-skinned man stood in front of it, his back to Harry.

_Snape_.

Harry ducked back around the door, his heart pounding.

". . . not happen if you would just listen to me you arrogant Australian Abercrombie. A colleague of mine came here about a week ago, and purchased some ingredients. Dried balle of seven years, and powered limehorn. He simply . . . forgot to purchase the third; I've now come to remedy that." There was a chinkling, as if metal was being displaced from one position to another.

"Sorry mate, no can do. You have to have a special license to buy all three at the same time. No license, no ingredient."

"I'm not buying them at the same time, you bloody Australian," Snape spat, but evidently there was more to it than that by the tone in his voice. "And isn't this supposed to be a Dark Arts shop? What do you care about licenses?"

"We do things a bit different in Australia mate. We might be a Dark Arts shop, but we know to follow the law. Gold isn't gonna change that." There was another chink-chink sound. "On the other hand, I've been known to be a bit of a rebel."

"So I see," said Snape in his sneering tone.

Harry once more peeked into the room. He jumped when Snape snarled, "Well? Are you going to get it?"

"Hold your horses," said Mr Ryne, but he shuffled off to the back of the store nonetheless.

Snape muttered, "Incompetent man."

A few seconds later Mr Ryne had come back, holding a pouch of something in his right hand. Snape seized it, opened it, and took a sniff with his over-large nose, then stuck a finger in and twirled it around. Apparently finding nothing wrong with the smell and consistency of the product he tied off the pouch, nodded to Mr Ryne, and turned, his action clearly implying he meant to leave the store.

Harry panicked, wishing he had his invisibility cloak. What would Snape do if he found Harry here? In Australia? There were bound to be questions after the initial shock, especially when Snape realized Harry had been eavesdropping. He mustn't be seen. Harry looked around searching for anything and everything to help him, and with luck spotted a thin dark gap in between Mr Ryne's shop and the Dark Arts Bookstore and squeezed himself in between. Though, he had to place Muck on top of his head, and suck in his stomach in order to do so. For the first time, he wished he hadn't trained so hard with Elizabeth this passed week.

A second later Snape swooped out of Ryne's Rare Retractables, not pausing for a moment as he made his way passed Harry's hiding spot. At exactly that second Muck _eeped_ in his ear. Harry's heart hammered as Snape froze in mid-step, his black, glittering eyes swiftly turning in his direction. Their calculating stare almost, but not quite, landing on him. Apparently finding nothing of interest, or assuming the sound was made by a common rodent – which wouldn't be far from the truth at the moment – Snape snapped his gaze back forward and strode down the tunnel. Only until Harry could no longer see his potion professor's bat-like profile did he pop out of the gap between the shops. He breathed in some much needed air. That had been too close.

He plucked Muck from atop his head and held her up in front of him. And almost like a child, scolded her, "You almost got us discovered."

Muck dropped her gaze, looking sorrowful.

Harry sighed. "Why were you sniffing about? Don't tell me it was Snape's scent you picked up? There's nothing interesting about _him_, the old bat! Except for the fact that he's here . . . Let's go then, I don't want to stay in this tunnel anymore."

Harry ran the rest of the way out of the Dark Tunnel, not caring if it made him look stupid, and then made his way into the one that hosted the ice cream shop. He spotted Elizabeth sitting at a table outside the shop, already eating an ice cream. He slowed down to a walk now that he could see her, but he kept his eyes peeled open in case Snape was still lurking about.

Now that Harry thought about it, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see Snape in Australia. When Dumbledore had come to Wrigadoogong with Harry last week he seemed to be overly familiar with the geography of the place, as well as the proprietors of the shops, whom all seemed to known him. If Dumbledore was familiar with it all, why not Snape? He had to spend his holidays somehow. And if searching for rare and dangerous potion ingredients on the other side of the world – with Dumbledore's help, apparently – was the way he went about it . . . but it was just so strange to see Snape outside of Hogwarts, his dungeon, or slinking around the corridors after curfew hoping to catch rule-breaking students . . . and it was especially creepy seeing him in sunny Australia at the same time as Harry . . . he sighed; his world became weirder every day.

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Dudley had had a marvellous time this night.

In fact, he'd been having a marvellous time the whole week, ever since his hated cousin had left with that old w-wizard a little over a week ago. Dad hadn't been pleased as to how the old codger had shown up to collect him; he'd ranted a full day about the state of his "bright clothes, un-groomed hair, and uncut beard," but he was pleased now, just as Dudley and his Mum were, because Harry wasn't in the house anymore.

This was why Dudley had had a marvellous time all week, especially this night.

The night in question now played out in Dudley's mind as he thought of stupid, wimpy Daren Bolger cowering at his feet, begging not to be hit. Dudley, of course, had hit him anyway, with Gordon and Malcom holding the kid still so he couldn't do a runner. Dudley had to practice after all. Wouldn't do to loose his title of Junior Heavyweight Interschool Boxing Champion of the Southeast. Dad wouldn't be pleased if that happened.

Dudley was also smart enough to realise that his Dad wouldn't be pleased if he caught Dudley smoking, or bashing up kids, because that would draw attention of the wrong sort from the neighbours, but Dudley made sure he was extra careful. The kids wouldn't blab, they'd have to answer to Dudley if they did.

Of course his cousin had known what he was doing around the neighbourhood, and Dudley had been a bit scared at first that he might tattle to all his freaky friends, but now that he was gone Dudley could indulge. This was another reason why he was so glad Harry had left early.

Dudley and his friends, among whom his best friend Piers was still included, now stopped at the entrance to Magnolia Crescent. It was time to say goodbye. The lads talked a moment about the night's happenings.

"He squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcom said, and they all laughed, imagining the Bolger kid's terrified expression.

"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers, and Dudley swelled with importance. He did have a nice right hook, and it felt good when other people noticed it.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked them.

"Round at my place, my parents will be out," said Gordon.

"See you then," Dudley said.

"Bye, Dud!"

"See ya, Big D!"

All three clapped him on the back and waved as they made their way off.

Dudley smirked his appreciation at being called Big D, a formidable name, and continued forward along Magnolia Crescent. He was so happy this night, and everything was going so well, that he thought the night's end deserved a celebratory song. Something of Dudley's own making. He began humming tunelessly, not caring if it sounded stupid or not. There was no one around to hear him anyway.

He picked his pace up a bit as he entered Wisteria Walk. Mum expected him back around seven, and Dudley was sure she had hinted at a special dessert after dinner. He hoped it was chocolate mud cake; that was his favourite.

It was when Dudley turned into Private Drive that everything suddenly went dark.

Dudley froze, whimpering, not even thinking it wasn't manly to do so because he seemed to have lost most of his thought process when the street turned dark. He understood that it was possible the electricity went off in the street, and all the streetlights and houselights extinguished automatically as a result, but he was also smart enough to realise that he _should_ have been able to see the outlines of the houses at least, because of the moon and the stars. But that was the problem, Dudley could not see the moon and the stars, it was completely dark, pitch black, as if he had walked into an underground tunnel. Dudley stood there and shivered in his meaty arms. It was so very cold all of a sudden. Why was it so cold?

If Dudley didn't know better, he would say that something _freaky_ was going on. But his cousin wasn't here at the moment, had not been here for over a week in fact, so it couldn't be him. What was happening? Was Dudley going blind? Had all those Boxing Matches meddled with his brain?

Dudley trembled as the air around him seemed to grow even colder. What was happening!

An extremely loud _crack_ broke the stillness of the street and Dudley, giving up all pretence of acting macho, screamed, slumped to the ground and curled himself into the tiniest ball he could manage, his arms covering his head.

Out of the darkness a majestic voice boomed, "_Expecto Patronum_!" just as another sharp _crack_ arrived. The same voice then said "Mundungus Fletcher!" in a tone Dudley had only heard being used by his father when talking to Harry.

"Dumbledore!" said a slightly slurred voice, as if whoever was talking had had too much to drink recently.

Another voice came then, one that sounded like a breathless old woman. "Dumbledore!" she croaked. "Thank God. I told him! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went. And now look! Dementors in Private Drive."

"Figgy!" said the drunken voice.

"Don't you 'Figgy' me Mundungus Fletcher. Off buying stolen cauldrons when you were supposed to be on watch duty! You almost got the Dursley boy killed. Lucky Harry was in the house at the time. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore . . ."

"Say what?" said the drunken voice.

"Mundungus, you will wait for me at headquarters," said the first voice, in a forbidding tone.

"Eh? A'right then, Dumbledore!" The drunken voice sounded trembly for a moment. "Me apologies an' all that. Be seeing ya!"

There was another sharp _crack_.

"What do we do with the Dursley boy?" asked the old woman.

"I will take care of it. You'd best go back to your house Arabella."

"If you're certain . . . how _did_ you manage to come here so quickly?"

"The wards around Private Drive alerted me to the fact that dark creatures appeared."

There was a shuffling noise, as someone walked away.

"Mr Dursley?" said the first voice, right in Dudley's ear. Dudley jumped, and scrambled away on his bottom. Dudley had had a hunch as to who had spoken and he preyed that he was wrong. But it wasn't to be, as Dudley found out a second later when he opened his eyes. He was now looking up the long-bearded man that had only a week ago been standing in Dudley's own living room; in the same kind of freaky dress he'd worn then as well.

"You should be fine Dudley," said the man, smiling down at him. "The Dementors had not come near you by the time I arrived."

Dudley just sat there, still gaping.

"Let's get you inside, hmm?" He offered a hand to Dudley.

Dudley ignored it and scrambled up to his feet, slowly backing away and staring at the hand like it might have been contagious if he touched it. _It probably was_, thought Dudley, _you never know with these types_. What if he could catch m-magic? Then he would be a freak, just like his cousin. No thanks.

Dudley stood still for a moment, his eyes flitting quickly between the man's face and his outstretched hand. "D-don't you try anything f-funny," he told him bravely, before wheeling around and sprinting to number 4.

He banged on the front door with his beefy fist, shouting hysterically. "Mum, Mum! Dad! Open up there's a you-know-what behind me!"

His Mum shrieked, and soon after Dudley heard someone running towards the door. It was yanked open and Dudley saw his parents standing there, before his Mum yanked him to her bosom.

"Oh my poor Dudley. What have they done to you? What have they done?"

"Mummy," Dudley moaned pathetically.

"What have they – Ahhh! _You_? What are _you_ doing here?"

Dudley turned his head in time to see the old wizard walk up the front steps.

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, I –!"

"What are _you_ doing here?" his Dad whispered furiously. "We thought we were rid of your kind for the summer when we sent the boy off last week!" He peered around behind the old man. "He's not here, is here? You didn't come to drop him off on our doorstep again, did you?"

"No, I –!"

"And what's happened to Dudley? You better not have tried anything . . . _freaky_ on him! Get off my property!"

"If you would just let me explain what happened."

"No, we've had enough of your kind. Goodbye!" His Dad slammed the door in the astonished man's face. "That'll show em you can't mess with a Dursley, right Dudley?"

"Right Dad," said Dudley, though both men were shivering.

"Are you all right Diddykins?"

"Course he's alright Petunia. Dudley isn't scared of one of _them_." He clapped Dudley on the shoulder.

"All the same, I think he deserves a bit more dessert tonight because he's had a fright," she said lovingly, smoothing Dudley's hair.

"Right you are, dear. Right you are. I think we all ought to have a bit more dessert."

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Albus sighed tiredly as he apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He landed next to the front door with a _crack_. He had known Harry's relatives had been a bit less than understanding of Harry's abilities, but he never thought . . . he never thought they were _that_ prejudiced. He understood a bit better, now, Harry's reluctance to come home on the summer holidays, and his avoidance of them entirely on the Christmas holidays. If that was the welcome he always expected . . . Albus sighed once more and entered Number 12, immediately wishing he hadn't done so.

". . . CRIMINALS, MUDBLOODS, IN THE ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK . . .!"

" . . . COULD'VE GOTTEN HARRY KILLED! NOT TO MENTION HIS COUSIN . . .!"

". . . BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS. TRAITORS TO THE BLOOD! FILTH . . .!"

". . . OFF STEALING CAULDRON BOTTOMS . . .!"

". . . VILE, DIRTY STENCH IN MY –!"

Albus flicked his wand at Sirius's mother's portrait. The curtains swung shut, ending the horrendous insults. Now it was time to end Molly's tirade. Unfortunately, that would not be as easy. If only he could flick his wand and quieten Molly as he had Mrs Black's portrait. Albus tried not to smirk at the thought as he pushed open the door, seeing almost the entire Weasely clan (minus Percy and Bill), Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Kinsley and in the middle stood Molly Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher, who was looking quite pale at Molly's continuous berating.

"What could have happened?" he said. Albus cringed at the question, knowing it had been a mistake to ask.

"'WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED?' 'WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED?' THE FACT THAT YOU DON'T EVEN CARE SHOWS JUST WHAT KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE! I DON'T KNOW WHY DUMBLEDORE — Dumbledore?"

Every head turned towards him at Molly's exclamation. Albus stared at her over the top of his spectacles. "Are you quite finished, Molly?"

She flushed, eyes roving the floor. "Of course, Professor."

"I assume by your . . . uh . . . conversation that Mundungus has told you what transpired at Private Drive recently."

Molly flushed even more. "Of course, and it was lucky you turned up when you did, as I was just telling Mundungus."

"Of course, Molly. Thank you for saving me the trouble."

Both Molly and Dung looked relieved at that, though Albus didn't doubt it was for different reasons entirely. "However, I shall still like to speak to you, Mundungus, about your lack of consideration and attention to things more important than stolen cauldrons."

"Right Sir," was all Dung said, his gaze on the carpet.

"But how is Harry Professor?" asked Hermione, her brown eyes pleading.

Ronald sat up. "Yeah, how is he, Sir? Did he get those Dementors?'

"Will he be expelled!" The girl seemed on the verge of hysteria.

Albus held up both hands. "Calm, calm. Harry was not even there at the time." Which was true. But they didn't have to know where.

Ron and Hermione slumped at that, looking reassured.

Sirius, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, broke the silence," How _did_ Dementors end up in Private Drive Dumbledore?"

"I have no idea. But Dementors should not be outside Ministry control."

"So either someone at the Ministry sent them there or –"

"Voldemort is already recruiting Dark Creatures, yes."

Sirius and Remus were the only ones who didn't jump at the word Voldemort.

"But You-Know-Who's been quiet for months, why would he risk coming out in the open now, with the Ministry not believing him?" asked George, or was it Fred?

Molly drew herself up, glaring at the twins. "That's Order business. In fact, you lot shouldn't even be here. Up to bed, all of you!"

There was instant protest.

"Aww Mum!"

"We're of age!"

"It's not fair –!"

"Only seven thirty –!"

"At least tell us if Harry's coming," Ronald finally said.

Every head once again turned to Albus for confirmation.

He cleared his throat. "What with all that has happened tonight, he will be here in three days, rather than when he was going to come later. And Molly is right, off to bed with you. We are about to have an impromptu meeting."

Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron didn't dare argue with the headmaster, and they left the room, a lot of grumbling from the twins and Ginny following in their wake.

"Well," said Molly, breathing shallowly. "That's that! I'll make sure they aren't listening. Fred and George have invented these new . . . things."

She marched out of the door; a second later her footsteps could be heard trudging up the stairs.

Albus moved to sit down at the head of the table.

"Dinner Headmaster? Dessert? Molly's made custard pie."

"Thank you very much Arthur, but I'm afraid I'll decline on the dinner. Custard pie sounds wonderful."

Arthur nodded and stood up to go to the kitchen. The rest of the present Order members settled themselves around the table, chatting comfortably. A minute later Arthur came back with a slice of custard pie that he plonked in front of Albus.

"Now then," said Albus after taking a bite. "We'll just wait for Molly to –"

"YOU CAN'T TAKE _THEM_ –!"

"THEY'RE OUR BEST DESIGN!" came the thundering voices of Fred and George Weasley.

"I MOST CERTAINLY CAN! I'M YOUR MOTHER! AND I BETTER NOT SEE THEM AGAIN!"

A couple of bangs followed immediately after that, presumably from a door or two. A lot of people around the table were sniggering, Albus included. A minute later Molly whirled into the room like a tropical storm, her breathing shallow, and her hair slightly askew. She sat herself next to her husband and sighed.

"Where were we then?" she asked no one in particular. "And tell me truthfully Albus, without the kids here. Is Harry really alright?"

Albus grew uncomfortable at the expectant stares of his companions; especially at the stares of Harry's Godfather and former Professor. He hated outright lying, but it seemed he would be doing just that the entire rest of the night; at least for any questions pertaining to Harry. He wanted to tell them where Harry truly was, and with whom, but it was not his secret to reveal. He had promised James, and most recently Elizabeth.

"He is completely fine. He was not with his cousin at the time. He was in the house. As you all know he has not stepped outside of it for an entire week. It was Dudley Dursley who had been in the most danger. Luckily I arrived before the Dementors came too near. He only experienced a slight chill. No unpleasant memories surfaced, thankfully."

"That's good to hear," said Molly, though Albus could not help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in her tone.

"What's niggling at me is how you managed to get there so fast, Dumbledore," Tonks observed. "How did you know the Dementors were there?"

"The wards around Private Drive alerted me to the fact that dark creatures had entered. I did not know what creatures they were."

"So the wards for Potter don't extend passed the street he lives in?" asked Kingsley.

"Precisely."

"That's awful!" exclaimed Molly. "Imagine if those Dementors had attacked before the Dursley boy came into the boundaries of the street? Imagine if he were delayed for some reason. Imagine if Harry were with him at the time. No one would have known! He would have been forced to use magic! Imagine what kind of trouble that would have caused, especially with Fudge discrediting him the way he is! He would have jumped at the chance to expel Harry!" She glared at Mundungus.

"How did the Dementors know to find Harry's house?" Remus asked, breaking up the tense silence.

Albus sighed. "This I have some inclination towards, although I have been known to be wrong on occasion. I have reason to believe it was someone at the Ministry who ordained the attack, not Voldemort, since his spies at the Ministry are not as high up in the ranks yet as he would like!"

Gasps followed that statement.

"Are you trying to say that Fudge –?" Arthur began.

"I am trying to say that someone with high rank in the Ministry ordered those attacks."

"How did you come by that conclusion?" asked Sirius, leaning forward in his seat.

"Simply by knowing that only the Ministry have Harry's address registered in their roster, as they do with nearly every wizard residence that isn't unplottable . . . and Voldemort does not know Harry's address—yet," he added darkly, and to numerous winces. "Which means, whoever ordered those Dementors must have come from the Ministry. And because Voldemort does not know Harry's general location, it would defeat the purpose of him sneaking into Azkaban and risking exposure, convincing only two Dementors to follow him, and then sending them on a wild goose chase. It would be a waste of time and resources. No, Voldemort could not have done it." _And thank Merlin for that_, Albus added in his thoughts.

"The Ministry's more corrupted than I thought," said Molly sadly.

Albus nodded tiredly. "That it is Molly. And as long as Fudge deems to dismiss the unavoidable it will continue to be."

"Do we establish a guard to pick up Harry?" Sirius avoided the headmaster's eyes after speaking, as if he knew he shouldn't let himself appear too excited, for fear of not getting chosen as part of the guard.

Albus said simply, "No," to various groans of disbelief. Sirius's head shot up from his perusal of the table, his brow furrowed. Albus explained, "I will be making a portkey and sending it to Harry. He will arrive in front of Grimmauld Place. I do not have a specific time set yet, but when I do you will be notified. Someone will have to wait for him outside and give him the address, then burn it. I recommend Tonks and Moody."

"Course," said Tonks. Moody was absent so he could not reply.

"Very good. That will be all I think." Albus stood up. "I best get going and do that then. Molly, that was an excellent pie, I shall have to beg for the recipe and pass it on to the Hogwarts house elves."

"Well, thank you very much Headmaster," said Molly, looking surprised. "Would you like some more?"

Albus was about to decline, but then he had a thought. "Why not! I know of a certain person who'd simply love a sample!"

Molly stood from her seat and smiled knowingly. "I know he won't admit it, but Severus does love my cooking."

Sirius snorted in disbelief from his place at the end of the table as Molly went to get the pie, while Albus just smiled and nodded. He had been thinking of Harry actually, but if Molly wanted to believe it was Severus he would give the pie to, well, all the better, he supposed. Speaking of . . . Severus should have been back from Australia by now . . . Albus wondered if he'd manage to purchase that lost ingredient.

A minute late Molly came back with a slice of pie wrapped up in a woollen kitchen towel, just as Albus reached the door.

Farewelling the present Order members, and sending his goodbye's to the children upstairs via Molly, Albus stepped out of Grimmauld Place and gently closed the door behind him. He looked at the towel in his hand for a moment, before stuffing it under his robes. He withdrew his wand from the holster on his wrist.

It took a significant amount of power to apparate across the continents and to the other side of the world. Even so, one had to stop through several countries before one could reach their desired destination. Also, one had to know where they were apparating to; one had to have a clear picture of the scenery in mind, otherwise, splinching occurred. Albus, luckily, had visited all destinations previously some ninety years ago, already had a precise layout of the specified geography, and could use apparition to get to his destination. But powerful wizard that he was, he was still not powerful enough to apparate from London England, to Newcastle Australia without stopping in Israel, then India, and finally Malaysia.

Portkeys on the other hand, could transport people to the moon and back if they were sufficiently made. Albus was not overly fond of them (unlike most wizards who preferred portkeys to apparition because it was safer) given that Albus had a tendency to travel to places illegally; that is, by the use of unregistered portkeys. He didn't fancy having the Ministry know where he travelled to all the time, so he apparated. If the rare occasion happened when he needed a portkey – such as when he needed to transport underage wizards, as he did and would do with Harry – he improvised. A Chocolate Frog packet, a banana peel he'd spotted lying in a gutter, a twig; anything that could be used, he used. And it also helped that Albus was knowledgeable enough, magically, to actually create a portkey; not many wizards could do that, so he had an advantage there, too.

Right now, however, Albus apparated.

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The scene that greeted Albus after he'd gone through the process of apparating passed three countries, and finally to Australia, made him smile. Harry sat on a stool at the bench scribbling away on a parchment – his homework most likely – while Elizabeth beat furiously at a mixture in a sliver bowl. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked like cocoa. The dear child did have an obsession with chocolate, ever since she was a little girl.

He would have stood there indefinitely if he could, eyeing that carefree, normal family scene – something both young people had not had enough of – if his apparating hadn't alerted them to his presence. Elizabeth was the first to look up, exclaiming with a grin "Uncle Albus!" After that Harry turned and stated, also with a grin, "Professor!"

Elizabeth dropped the spoon into the mixture, licked her thumb, and made her way towards him.

"How are you Uncle?" She leaned up slightly and kissed his cheek.

"A slight itchy throat, as all old persons get from time to time, but otherwise fine. And you?"

"Fantastic! I'm making cookies."

Albus chuckled.

"What brings you here Sir?" asked Harry, who'd now come to stand by his sister. "Aren't you a little early?"

"Ahh . . ." Without knowing it, the twinkle in his eyes dimmed slightly, alerting the siblings to the fact that something was out of place. "There has been an attack in Private Drive . . ." was as far as Albus got before Harry exploded.

"What!" He was breathing heavily, his eyes glazed open in disbelief. "Is everyone alright? How did it happen? When did it happen? How did Voldemort –!"

"Calm down Harry. Everyone is fine. Perhaps I should have explained that first. It was a Dementor attack. Two Dementors to be precise. And they didn't have a chance to kiss anyone or even come close enough to raise any bad memories with their presence. It was your cousin who almost came across them. He felt their coldness, but no lingering effects will transpire from the encounter."

Harry breathed deeply as he slumped down in a table chair. Elizabeth moved behind him, rubbing little reassuring circles on his back.

"So I take it that we have to leave now instead of next week, because everyone will be wondering why you'd leave Harry at Private Drive if an attack has taken place . . ." Elizabeth observed.

"Unfortunately," Albus answered with a tired sigh.

"When?" was all Harry said, without lifting his gaze off the floor.

"About three days. I'm making a portkey. Pack everything now that you need to take. Clothes, furniture, paintings. I'll help if you need me, Elizabeth."

"No thanks, Uncle. I've already mastered household spells. And I can't exactly take the furniture until the house in Surrey is finished . . ."

"Ahem hmm . . . that's fine. I also have something for you Harry."

Harry lifted his gaze up and eyed him with curious eyes.

"I've just come from seeing the Weasley's and your Godfather," Harry eyes lit up, "and I asked for a slice of Molly's wonderful Custard Pie. I thought you might enjoy some. I know how much you like her cooking."

He removed the towel-wrapped slice of pie from under his robes and handed it to Harry, who took it with a slight frown. "Thank you Sir."

"Not at all Harry."

Elizabeth stood beside Harry, her eyes flitting from her brother to the Headmaster. "I'm going back to my half finished cookie dough. Hope that pie won't spoil your appetite, Babe!" She stooped briefly to kiss Harry on the cheek, and made her way back into the kitchen.

"You seem to be getting along well." Albus had seen the brief smile of pleasure that had flitted across Harry's face at Elizabeth's show of affection.

"Yeah, she's great." He unwrapped the towel revealing the slightly squashed pie. _How in the world did that happen?_ Albus thought. It couldn't have been because of that muggle market seller in Rajahmundry, the one who'd attacked him in order to get him to buy some rotten fish, could it?

Harry brought the pie to his mouth. "This is great."

Albus chuckled.

"Sir?" Harry asked, after finishing the pie. "I saw Sn—Professor Snape at Wrigadoogong last night. He almost spotted me."

"Ah, no doubt you were shocked to see him there. We Professors have a life outside of teaching, you know. I myself have vacationed at the Shellock Ups a few times. We go all over the world on the summer holidays Harry. But I must confess that Professor Snape thinks only of work if he ever goes on vacation. He is entirely too diligent with his potions, I'm afraid."

Harry nodded, looking down at his knees. "So, he was there for potions ingredients?" Albus did not miss that the boy sounded a little too innocent. The headmaster fought hard not reveal a knowing grin. "Yes, extremely rare and dangerous ones that can only be found in certain parts of the world."

"I had to hide before he—_OUCH_! Muck!"

Albus blinked to clear his vision. He was certain he'd just seen a dark blur hit Harry before whizzing out of the room. He hemmed uncertainly. "Was that a Bunyip, Harry?"

Harry presented him with a wide smile. "She's mine and Elizabeth's. Bought her just last night."

"I take it she's the Bunyip you told me about last week. What was she –?"

"Oh," He blinked, turning red, and mumbled, "she likes to play hide and seek. Her idea of getting my attention is to pile into me."

Albus was laughing heartily.

Elizabeth stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a cloth towel. Those same hands travelled to her hips and stayed there like two stone pillars. The towel dangling from her right hand, surprisingly, made her look even more formidable, rather like a younger Molly Weasley. "What's going on? What's the joke? Not very sporting of you to exclude me!"

"Muck," Harry said by way of explanation.

Elizabeth dropped her hands, looking exasperated. "Again? You'd think she'd be tired out by now. Or at least bored."

Harry shrugged.

"I'm beginning to regret ever buying that Bunyip!" she said vehemently.

"You know you don't mean that Elizabeth." Harry now sported a cheeky grin. "I saw how you looked this morning in your bed, cuddling Muck to your chest like she was a stuffed Teddy bear."

Albus laughed as redness spread over the girl's cheeks. "I never . . ." she stuttered. "How did you know about that?"

"That was the first time I woke up before you. Went to see where you were, and low and behold I found you fast asleep with your arms around Muck. The biggest, sloppiest smile on your face –."

"Okay, okay, Harry!" she grumbled. "Merlin, when you go to embarrass people, you really embarrass them."

"That's what families do remember? Or did you forget what you told me?"

She paused for a moment, and then smiled. "No, thank Merlin."

Albus was astonished at how comfortable in his own skin Harry seemed, as the siblings traded harmless insults. And it did not escape his notice how different the scene between them was since the first time he'd brought Harry here. He clearly remembered Elizabeth as the dominant force, with Harry appearing confused, overwhelmed, and embarrassed. Now, their roles seemed to have reversed. He did not know what Elizabeth had done to bring about the change in Harry, but he was thankful for it. He would need this new confidence in the coming year. Particular with Fudge, not to mention Voldemort . . .

Albus cleared his throat, snaring their attention. He pulled out a fish from under his robes. It was good for something after all, if it couldn't be eaten.

"What the heck . . .?" Elizabeth stared between him and the fish, as if she couldn't decide which was the more strange.

"It's –," he began.

"It's rubbish, that's what it is! Get it out of my house!" She produced her wand.

"It is _not_ rubbish, it's a portkey Elizabeth," he explained calmly.

Harry stared with wide eyes, as Elizabeth gesticulated with her hand. "You call _that_ a portkey? Couldn't you have picked a twig or something! Where have you been, fishing?"

"I did not want it to go to waste. And no, I haven't been fishing. I was . . . ahem . . . coerced into buying it."

"Rubbish," she scoffed. "No one can force _you_ into doing anything you don't want to do. They'd be mad to try."

"Yet I'm looking at an example . . ."

Elizabeth had the grace to blush. Albus knew that she had no qualms about ordering him about, unlike most wizards. He also knew she was well aware that he knew it.

"I will leave this with you." He placed the fish on the table next to Harry, who drew back slightly. "It will activate at exactly 11am, three days from now. Do not worry about the smell; I've placed a charm on it."

Elizabeth glared at him. "Where am I supposed to keep this . . . _thing_? Certainly not in the fridge?"

"It will not spoil. At least not anymore than it already is, so you can keep it anywhere."

Albus only caught a few words among the grumble that followed such as "bin" and "see if I don't!" He wisely chose not to comment on the sake of his continued health and sanity.

"Are you quite done?"

Elizabeth's posture slumped. She looked decidedly woebegone at the moment. "Sorry Uncle. I think the fact that we have to move earlier than planned is stressing me out slightly. I'm moving countries for cripes sake!"

"I believe you should be allowed to stress out in this occasion."

"Well so do I!" she declared passionately, to her brother's sniggering. "I'm going to be stressed out if I feel like it, and woe betide anyone who gets in my way." She glared at Harry, who, in that precise moment seemed to have choked on something.

"Well I'll be off then. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your stress . . . I only seem to be causing more at the moment."

"So soon?" she asked.

"Hogwarts is Hogwarts, after all –"

"And it wouldn't be Hogwarts without you?" she finished drolly.

"Precisely." He bent over to kiss her cheek. He extended a hand to Harry, who took it.

"Goodbye."

He disapparated.

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A/N: Well, that's it for chapter seven folks. Pretty long, eh? And before you start harping on me, I'll explain a few things. I'm aware that in the book the Dementors show up in Magnolia Crescent NOT Private Drive. I figure the partial reason for this is because Harry holds up Dudley in Magnolia Crescent by starting an argument, forcing them to walk slowly at first, then completely stopping later. If you notice in my story, Dudley is eager to get home because of cake, so he walks faster. And the fact that Harry isn't there to distract him speaks for itself.

Also, we all know that Umbridge sent the Dementors. What we don't know is where, precisely. I believe they were sent to Private Drive, but, they didn't end up going there, instead choosing to go to Magnolia Crescent because they were able to sense Harry out first before they ever got to Private Drive, given that he's the only wizard there. Which is why Dumbledore wasn't alerted.

Now, in my story they show up in Private Drive not Magnolia Crescent because they aren't able to sense a wizard anywhere before that, which means Dumbledore is alerted because the wards are triggered.

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A/N: I'm not sure when my next update is going to be. HP6 comes out in two weeks and I want to concentrate on being excited for that.

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Review Please.


	8. Revealed

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: IMPORTANT! I made a mistake in the last chapter. The fish portkey Dumbledore gives Harry and Elizabeth was not meant to trigger at 11 am, but rather 5 am in the early morning. That means that they will arrive at around seven pm the previous day at Grimmauld Place. Around the same time as the book, I think.

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Chapter Eight: Revealed.

The usual inhabitants of Grimmauld Place, which included Sirius, Remus, Tonks, the Weasley's, and Hermione, could be found eating breakfast (kippers, toast, and an assortment of jam scones) on the day Harry Potter was due to arrive. Not much was conferred between the younger members of the table, among the usual Ministry incompetence that seemed to crop up in nearly every conversation. Not much was discussed among the adults, either, because the children's presence prevented any deliberating that they wished to pursue, so they resigned themselves to wait until the next Order meeting, which happened to be just that night, so they didn't have to wait long, thankfully.

With no talk conspiring around the table, the occupants were left to laugh at the antics of the Weasley Twins, who were treating them with a small demonstration from a stock of their newest inventions; a mixture of sweets that caused the eater to develop some rather nasty sicknesses. Unfortunately, the sweets still needed a lot of tweaking, as everyone found out a minute later when Fred sprouted antlers out of his head, and George grew a buxom bosom. Fortunately, George produced the antidote from out of his left pocket and they were back to normal in no time.

This then gave them the opportunity to test out their other sweets. This testing continued for a good five minutes until Molly Weasley walked into the room, having just come from cleaning the kitchen, and confiscated them. Needless to say this didn't please the twins, (who were now sporting lovely green noses) but, they weren't overly bothered. A few seconds later Ron discovered why when George bent to his ear and whispered they had a whole pile hidden in his boxer shorts, which was hidden in Fred's pillow-case, which they'd stuffed in a corner under Ron's bed.

Since the Twins were now sweet-less (apparently) it was left up to Tonks to amuse the rest of the company. She had only just changed her nose to resemble that of a small elephant trunk, when a handsome Hogwarts owl came soaring through the open doorway of the basement – having just entered an upstairs window – to land on the table next to Sirius.

Sirius, being of calculating mind (a trait passed on by his Slytherin ancestors no doubt) realised straight away that the bird had to have come from Dumbledore, since he, as a convicted murderer, had been having no other correspondence lately. This last thought produced a black frown and an almost indistinguishable pout (for those not looking closely) from said recipient.

Sirius untied the letter from the tawny owl's foot and watched as it ruffled its feathers a little pompously, before flying back the way it came. Sirius, assuming the headmaster didn't want a reply, settled on opening the letter and reading it. A few minutes of silence passed as the breakfasters watched Sirius peruse the letter.

They were each wondering why it took him so long to read it, but they didn't realise that Sirius had read the letter over and over again about ten times, just to make sure he didn't need glasses. Remus, tired of the long silence, and much more intuitive to anything Sirius related than the other members of the breakfast table, (which meant he knew Sirius had read the letter more than once) broke the silence. "What does it say?"

The animagus cleared his throat, stroked his chin, and cleared his throat again before answering. "Dumbledore says Harry's going to be bringing a guest to stay with him." Sirius sounded bewildered. "He says not to hex the guest."

This produced some surprised murmuring and a couple of raised eyebrows from the current occupants of Number twelve. Who, after all, could Dumbledore trust so much with Harry Potter, (the saviour of the Wizarding World and current target of the most feared Dark Lord ever to reign), that wasn't a member of the Order; as far as they knew anyway?

Ron finally voiced aloud his opinion; an opinion that was both too horrible and too dastardly to think about, which was why nobody had thought about it, bar Ron, who had – according to Hermione – a revolting mind to begin with. "You don't think it's Harry's cousin, do you?" he said, as Fred and George sat up in their seats. "Otherwise, why else would Dumbledore say not to hex him?"

"I suppose it is logical," said Hermione, biting her lip thoughtfully. "He _did_ get attacked by the Dementors, after all. Maybe Professor Dumbledore wants to keep him safe?"

Those who had actually met Dudley Dursley sat in silent horror at the end of Hermione's sentence, while those who had heard all the stories from the one's who'd met Dudley Dursely sat contemplating; one word running through their minds: _why?_

"Though," Hermione now said, ignoring Ron's sharp gaze, "how on earth Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Harry's uncle to let Dudley stay here –"

"Hey, I know," Ron interrupted, forgetting his previous upset at the thought of Dudley coming to stay, and landing a much more agreeable idea. "Maybe Dumbledore's hexed them!"

Hermione scoffed. "He wouldn't do that!" She looked to the surrounding adults. They, however, offered nothing in the way of support and Hermione deflated a bit, forcing to admit that, no, she didn't really know Dumbledore or what he was capable of. Maybe he _had_ hexed Harry's relatives in order to get them to be more amenable?

"Well if it is Dudley Dursley," said Arthur Weasley, sparing a reproachful glance at Ron, then settling the full weight of his gaze on Fred and George, "you will _not_ hex him, will you boys? Or offer him sweets again?"

With Molly Weasely looking sharply over her husband's shoulder, the twins didn't dare argue.

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It was a perfectly ordinary night for Elizabeth Potter. Well, ordinary for a Slayer anyway. With Harry safely tucked away back at the house, sleeping like a well-guarded baby (he'd have to be, if the numerous wards she'd put up had anything to prove) Elizabeth could now be found, if one was to look closely, squatting in a high pine tree on one of the top most branches, her supernatural eyes scouring the ground for any dark art activities that might need a Slayer's expertise.

She had already fought off a group of vampires earlier that night; the same group that had harassed her and Harry about a week ago, as a matter of fact. Elizabeth wasn't exactly surprised. The vampires had easily found a dark arts wizard buff, who had been all too willing and able to take down the enchantment she'd placed around them. So she had been once again forced to curse them, this time adding a solidifying spell of her own creation, so it would be much harder for a wizard to break.

In truth, Elizabeth was a little worried about all this. Vampires, as she had explained to Harry, were solitary creatures, mostly because they couldn't bear to take orders from one of their own kind due to having supreme arrogance in their own vampiric powers, and partly because they couldn't organise themselves out of a shoebox. Their arrogance, although frightening to most people, was really what weakened them in the end.

But that was why Elizabeth was so worried. Why, if they were solitary and, for lack of a better word, dumb, would they risk exposure and possible annihilation by banding together, especially when they now knew there were not one, but two slayers residing in Australia? Well, there wouldn't be by tomorrow but that wasn't the point.

Had Voldemort's influence already stretched this far?

Elizabeth bit her lip slightly. No, that couldn't be it. Voldemort wasn't a problem to the wizarding population of Australia yet.

_But vampires aren't part of the wizarding population of Australia,_ said a little voice that swam in the back of her mind, and Elizabeth sat up suddenly, almost unbalancing off the thin branch. She hastily threw an arm around the trunk of the tree to steady herself. Not that she would hurt herself if she fell from the high drop, but that would mean she would have to jump back up again, and she was feeling slightly lazy this night.

On the branch next door, Emma clicked her pincers worriedly at the slayer's almost stumble. Elizabeth absently patted her head as she continued to think. _That was true, wasn't it?_ A dark creature was a dark creature, no matter what country they resided in. If they wanted in on the action, nothing was going to stop them. Besides, she had a feeling that these vampires were immigrants. The 'leader' had sounded slightly Romanesque, after all. They would probably like to go back to Europe.

Quite unexpectedly – because Elizabeth had not been anticipating another dark creature event this night – Emma's antennae began revolving in small fast circles finally come to join in a mixture of complicated loops on the middle of her head. Elizabeth knew what this meant. The blearglob had just received a message from Sigmund. The Slayer extended a hand, wove her fingers into the intricate loops, and closed her eyes, seeing and experiencing exactly what Emma was.

The first thing she tasted was saltwater, which meant Sigmund was in the sea. The second thing she experienced was the feeling of being thrashed violently about in the water. She concentrated harder and saw, through Sigmund's eyes, the back of a huge sandy-coloured wyrm. It appeared to be stuck half in and half out of the tunnel below Wrigadoogong. Its fat body wriggling injuriously from side to side caused large waves to form, crashing thunderously against the cliff face. A few mer-persons were popping out of the water behind the wyrm to exclaim in shock, pointing excitedly at it. A couple of lights were turning on in the residential tunnels of the cliff.

Elizabeth sighed exasperatedly. Just what she needed. An audience. It was much harder to do her duty with curious onlookers about, but she'd manage, just like she always did.

Elizabeth knew this particular wyrm from the spotty brown markings on its slippery back. She'd affectionately named him Sandy. In fact, she knew the whole colony of these wyrms. Sandy was the baby, if one counted being four hundred years old as infantile. The wyrms had taken to living on the bottom of the sea floor some five miles away and creating their tunnels there after wizards had overtaken the cliff face about three hundred years ago. Yes, Wrigadoogong had once belonged to the Giant Wyrms. The tunnels of the cliff face had taken centuries of muscly, undulating bodies to form into what they were now.

Unfortunately, some of the wyrms (meaning Sandy) get it in their heads that they still belonged there, (childhood repression, and all that) and every once in a while Elizabeth would have to go stop them. Like now.

She plucked Emma from her spot on the branch and gently put her in the knapsack on her back before jumping off the tree, landing perfectly some fifty meters below. Then she ran.

She hadn't been in a suburban area. She had been in a cemetery. But if anyone was out and about now, especially in a car, like the one up ahead, they would soon find themselves overpassed by a blur. Not that they would see anything as Elizabeth always wore black at night, and always made sure to travel passed cars that were going slower than eighty kilometres per hour. That was her limit.

As she ran closer, finally coming to the main road and launching over a stationary Ute, she realised the usual tingle that travelled down her spine at the first sign of danger wasn't there. She chalked this up to it only being Sandy. Wyrms weren't dangerous, after all, unless they sat on you. They didn't eat humans. They feared them. But for some reason Sandy didn't, and Elizabeth had always thought it was because of his youthful years.

A clicking noise from her knapsack alerted Elizabeth that Emma was tunning in to Sigmund once more, so she stopped, sat on the side of the road, plucked Emma from her knapsack, and wove her fingers into the loops.

Immediately she could see that the scene had changed. The wyrm was still stuck, the merpeople were still popping out of the water every now and then, but this time the entirety of Wrigadoogong seemed to have woken, and the bluish lights cast an eerie glow on the still struggling wyrm and the sea-inhabitants. Except now a flock of wizards had come, hovering on their brooms above the commotion, their wands out, and their faces a mixture of determination and exasperation. Elizabeth continued watching as the wizards, in unison, cast a shrinking charm on the wyrm, so that it was now no bigger than a carpet snake, before one of them flew down and picked it up. The vision ended.

Elizabeth sat with head bowed, staring at her black runners. There was no need to go to Wrigadoogong now. The wizards had handled it. They would take Sandy out to sea, drop him in the water and enlarge him again, then come back and go to sleep. If she had anything to say about Australian wizards, she would say they were very impartial.

Elizabeth was not stupid. She knew that the British Ministry was corrupted from the inside, due to all the Voldermort supporters. She knew that they were very big on pure blood, and very disliking of half breeds or what they termed "dangerous beasts;" that went for all European Ministries. Wizarding communities from countries like Australia, New Zealand, the majority of South America, and most parts of the States, (besides Salem), and many other countries, weren't that big on prejudices, because, well, they'd never had a Dark Lord to start any.

Of course prejudices still existed, (especially in Salem where muggles had wanted to burn and hang so many witches, but never got a chance to catch any real ones) but they weren't as influenced as communities in Europe, Africa, and some parts of Asia.

So if a wyrm had been attempting to travel down Diagon Alley, Elizabeth knew it would have been dead before it got passed the first lot of shops. Incidentally, Elizabeth wondered if this incident would show up in The Morning Omen.

Sighing, she stood up, stretched, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. _Four am_. That meant they had another hour to go until the – shudder – fish portkey activated. She broke into a sprint, faster than the human eye could follow, and fifteen minutes later after cutting across a shopping centre car park, and the cemetery she'd left earlier that evening, she arrived home.

She stepped into the house, leaning back against the door once it had closed behind her. Harry had never known that three nights out of the past week she hadn't even been in the house, but rather scouting the surrounding suburbs. She'd gotten _feel_ of a couple of _grey_, not dark, creatures that needed subduing and knew that if she left them without discipline they would eventually seek her out and come into the house. She couldn't risk that with Harry here, no matter how 'grey' they were.

Elizabeth tiptoed up the stairs and slowly opened Harry's bedroom door. She smirked when she saw Muck lying on her back at his side, hands and feet lifted straight into the air as though she was dead. Her tiny snout emitted a soft snore every couple of seconds. Hedwig, Elizabeth saw, had opened her eyes the moment she had stepped into the room. That intense yellow gaze now followed her curiously, stopping when she reached the bed.

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, staring interestedly at the owl. The owl did the same. Elizabeth and Harry had been _very_ surprised when Hedwig had seemed to show fondness toward the Bunyip. Elizabeth thought they made an extremely intelligent pair of familiars. That was good. That was what Harry needed.

She looked at him now; looked at his facial features. She rarely ever got a chance to just stare at him like this because when she started Harry would usually get very embarrassed. It was true he had some feminine features. Like the slight tilt in the corner of his eyes, the red lips, and the creamy complexion that most girls would be jealous of. Though, that creamy complexion was moderately golden now, but that suited him, and despite the colour of his lips they were still masculine. Not to mention the colour of his eyes . . .

The changes from boy to man were already beginning and in a couple more years the girls will start to pay a _lot_ of attention to him. This thought made her sad, as she had already missed most of his boyhood. She had wanted to always take care of him, but he would grow up soon and start a family of his own, just like she would most likely. It just wasn't fair.

She brushed aside a tear and shook his shoulder, making sure to use extreme gentleness. She had always been careful around ordinary humans, especially Harry. She would never forgive herself if she accidentally snapped his arm.

Harry mumbled something like "Groowoo," before falling asleep again.

A twitch appeared in the corner of her lip before she touched his hand, this time saying his name.

Harry jerked awake, breathing "Mwhat?" and looking around cluelessly. Elizabeth had a powerful urge to hug him then, but restrained herself.

"It's time to get ready," she said, watching him stretch over to the nightstand to put on his glasses.

"Oh . . . right." He yawned, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Elizabeth _did_ hug then. He was just so adorable.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding amused. But Elizabeth couldn't help but noticed the extra squeeze he gave her. The kid had been deprived of affection, and it gave her no small amount of pride that he'd opened up to her, a virtual stranger.

"Nothing," she mumbled against his shirt, "just wanted to hug you."

She felt, more than heard him chuckle before he released her. "Well, you can't hug me now, I have to get ready." Then he chucked a pillow at her. "Out!"

"Alright, alright. No need to get violent." But she threw the pillow back in his face before closing the door.

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A half hour later found Harry and Elizabeth with their trunks scattered by their feet, and the animals in their proper containers; meaning Hedwig and Rufus in their cages, Emma and Sigmund in Elizabeth's knapsack, and Muck down Harry's shirt. They had both changed into their leather jackets, as, Harry had described, it was a mite colder in England, no matter that it was summer. Despite this though, Elizabeth opted to wear her black knee-length skirt, black heeled boots, and black blouse under her jacket. She felt it was more conservative this way, and that it would make a good impression. Harry, on the other hand, had chosen to wear, as Elizabeth dubbed, smart casual clothes: a green long-sleeved shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and black docs.

They were waiting in the kitchen, because, despite Dumbledore's assurances that the portkey would _not_ stink up, Elizabeth had still put it in the freezer and would not take it out until the precise remaining minute, which happened to be now.

After shrinking both hers and Harry's trunks and pocketing them, Elizabeth took the fish out of the freezer and offered the other end for Harry to hold.

He threw her a nasty look.

"I don't want the head," she told him bluntly. "The eyes are all," shudder "squishy."

"Right," was all Harry said, thinking that the dead googly globes highly resembled those of Gregory Goyle's. Big and scary they might be, but there was hardly anything remotely intelligent looking out.

"Listen, Harry," said Elizabeth, sounding quite serious for the moment. Harry, observing her imploring eyes and the fact that she'd called him by his given name, gave her his undivided attention. "I don't want the Order to know what I am just yet."

Harry opened his mouth, about to agree, but changed his mind in the last second, curiosity filling his brain. "Why?" he asked.

Elizabeth looked quite uncomfortable, if her frown was anything to go by. "The secret of the Slayer has been kept in our family for thousands of years, passed down from generation to generation." She told him in a lecturing mode, drawing a deep breath. "If I'm to reveal what I am to the Order I would have to also expose my fellow Slayers – not their actual identities, but the fact that they exist – and that will make them vulnerable, susceptible to anyone wishing to discover their secrets."

She stopped for a moment to run her fingers through her hair, then continued, Harry listening even more diligently than before. "There could be a leak in the Order, someone could reveal something while in a drunken interlude, and I can't take that chance. I can't tell the Order about me without the other Slayers' consent. No one, bar Dumbledore, has ever been inclined to the secret of the Slayer, and we like it that way. But, we also understand that there can be dark times, and that sometimes it is important to reveal secrets in order to give aide.

"Understand Harry that we do not agree to this method, we do not like exposure, we do not like vulnerability, especially when it threatens ourselves. So, to be allowed to tell the Order about myself will take some serious convincing on my part." She looked thoughtful for a moment, and seemed to be staring at nothing. Her eyes had glazed over and her mouth was slightly opened. Then she shook her head a little, and the dreamy effect passed. "Of course, they already have some inkling as to what I want to do, most likely. But I still have to formerly request their acceptance."

Harry had rarely ever heard her so serious, or seen her look so flustered. It seemed to him a bit strange, also, that she was talking about herself as if she was only a small part of a whole person, as though the other Slayers and she were only different parts of the same entity that would join up one day to form a complete whole. It was slightly creepy, and not a little disconcerting.

For the first time – even though he'd seen her fight the vampires – Harry felt like he finally understood, no, finally grasped, that his sister was not just a witch, but also a compelling magical creature with strange mystical powers that were way beyond his comprehensive ability. The thought made him shudder slightly, and he hoped Elizabeth hadn't noticed.

"W-what," Harry began. He cleared his throat quickly to mask the nervous shudder in his voice. "What about your relationship to me? Can we reveal that?" He had been itching to tell Ron and Hermione all about her and his experience in Australia, and was now disappointed at the thought that he might not be permitted to.

Elizabeth smiled, though her eyes held a scrutinising glimmer that Harry felt could see into his very soul. He forced himself not to look away. What was wrong with him? It was only Elizabeth.

"I think," said Elizabeth, still staring at him, "we can tell them I'm your sister." Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "It won't do as much harm as admitting I'm a Slayer, anyway." Elizabeth seemed to want to say something more, but appeared as if she changed her mind in the last second. With a slight shake of her head, she asked, "ready?"

Harry didn't have time to answer as he felt a twisting jerk behind his navel, and was soon whirling away in utter darkness.

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They landed on a slightly potholed street with a small thump. Harry lost his balance and fell over; quickly turning around to land on his back so Muck didn't get squished. She didn't get squished either way, and he didn't have to damage his back, because Elizabeth caught him before he hit the ground.

"Thanks," he said.

Elizabeth shrugged in that way that meant "no biggie," and peered straight ahead of her. Harry squinted at the preceding shadows, trying to see anything interesting, as it was obvious Elizabeth had spotted something, but he couldn't make anything out. All he could see was a bunch of grimy looking houses – made even spookier because of the night gloom – paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. He could hear a dosage of heavy metal music emanating from the house to his right; otherwise breaking up the silence of the street.

He started when Elizabeth said loudly, "You can come out now! I know you're watching us."

He started once more when he spotted two disjointed shapes limp out of the shadows. He quickly drew his wand, but held it loosely in his hand after noticing Elizabeth hadn't drawn hers.

"You've a good eye," said a growling voice, the owner of which was revealed a second later when he stepped into the dull light of a grotty street lamp.

"Professor Moody?" said Harry uncertainly.

"I don't know so much about 'Professor,' never got around to much teaching did I?"

Harry could only nod stupidly.

Just then the second person stepped into the light, and Harry was now looking at a young woman with short, spiky violet hair. She waved.

"Wotcher Harry! The names' –"

"Shut up!" growled Moody. "You don't give away you're name to just anybody. We don't even know if it's the real Potter! And what about her?" he continued, turning to stare suspiciously at Elizabeth. "How do we really know she's been sent by Dumbledore?"

"Oh alright then Moody," grumbled the pink-haired woman, then she looked Elizabeth in the eye. "What's Dumbledore's favourite sweet?"

"Sherbet Lemons," said she and Harry together.

"It's them," said the woman, looking smugly back at Moody.

"Humph," was what Moody said. "In that case, I'm Alastor Moody, and _she's_" he pointed a thumb at the pink woman "Nymphadora Tonks."

"And if you call me that I'll be forced to kill you," said Nymphadora Tonks quite happily. "Just Tonks will do."

"I'm Elizabeth," said Elizabeth, extending an arm, which was shaken by both Tonks and Moody. Moody stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"Elizabeth, did you say?" His fake eye swivelled in its socket. "Interesting name." Harry wasn't sure, but he thought it might have swirled in his direction for a moment.

Elizabeth raised her brow. "No less interesting than Alastor I'm sure."

"Ha! You've got nerves, girl," said Moody, his face completely warped into a mangle of flesh by his grin. "I like you."

Elizabeth grinned back.

Moody reached into his robe pocket and pulled out what looked like a sliver cigarette lighter. He raised it into the air and started clicking it. The nearest lamp went out with a pop. Then the next one went out; he kept clicking until all the street lamps extinguished and all the light that remained came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, stashing away the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the windows, see. What are doing!" he spat, glaring at Harry.

Harry had been in the process of pocketing his wand. "Er?" he said uncertainly.

"You don't ever put your wand in your back pocket, boy! I've known better wizards who'd lost buttocks that way."

"Who do you know who's lost a buttock Moody?" asked Tonks interestedly.

"Never you mind," grunted Moody. "We should have been in the house long ago." He rummaged through his robes and pulled out a scrap of paper. He hadn't it to Harry. "Both of you read quickly and memorise."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper, vaguely conscious of Elizabeth leaning over his shoulder. The narrow-handed writing seemed familiar. It said:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

So it was called the Order of the _Phoenix_, thought Harry. He supposed that was logical, considering that Fawkes was a creature of light and Dumbledore's pet.

Moody snatched the paper out of Harry's surprised grasp and set fire to it with the tip of his wand. Harry took the time to scan the surrounding houses. He found number eleven and number thirteen, but there was no number twelve in the middle.

"Where's –?" he began.

"Just think about what you've memorised Babe," said Elizabeth, staring onwards interestedly.

Harry did so. Immediately a ratty door appeared in the gap between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed by grimy walls and dirty windows. It was as though an extra house had squeezed itself into the gap. Harry stared at it; the music from number eleven thudded on, and the Muggles appeared not to have noticed anything.

"Inside, quickly!" said Moody, ushering them forward and glaring around.

Harry picked up Hedwig's cage and walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was scratched and worn; there was sliver doorknocker in the shape of a serpent. Moody shuffled forward and tapped once on the door. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the rattle of a chain. The door creaked open.

"Go in but don't touch anything!" whispered Moody furiously. "And stay by the door."

Harry looked at Elizabeth. She raised her brows at him. They went in.

The house had the feel of a dying person. It was completely dark in the entrance hall, and there was a sweet, rotting smell lingering in the air, of festered buildings and leeched marshes. It was as though nobody had cleaned it for a long while and the damp smell was left to ooze from the walls.

"Hold on while I give us a bit of light," whispered Moody.

Harry felt a foreboding intrude as Moody did something with his wand and the old-fashioned gas lamp above revealed what was previously darkness. Peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets in a long, gloomy hallway was the result. Cobwebs blanketed most of the ceiling and old, crooked portraits lined the hallway walls. A chandelier and candelabra on a rickety table nearby were both in the shape of serpents. There was even an ominous hissing sounding from the gas lamp.

There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother, Mrs Weasley, emerged from the door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried towards them, though Harry noticed, that she was rather thinner and paler than the last time he'd seen her.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length. Muck had hastily scrambled to the back of his shirt in order not to get squashed. "You're looking peaky: you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."

Harry saw that Elizabeth had her arms crossed and was frowning lightly at Mrs Weasley.

Mrs Weasley turned to Moody and Tonks beside him and whispered urgently. "He's just arrived, the meeting's started. He says to let the young lady come as well." Mrs Weasley looked disproving as she said that, before turning to Elizabeth.

"And you must be her, the escort Dumbledore wrote us about. I'm Molly Weasley, dear," she said offering a hand to Elizabeth. Elizabeth, looking considerably happier, took it. "You don't know how relieved everyone will be when they discover you're not the Dursley boy," she added.

Harry and Elizabeth both said, "What?" in confused tones, but Mrs Weasley shushed them.

"You might want to put your things upstairs, dears," she said. "Follow me."

Harry and Elizabeth exchanged looks before trailing Mrs Weasley down the hall. They followed Mrs Weasley's lead, tiptoeing passed a pair of moth-eaten curtains and an umbrella stand that appeared to be made from several trolls legs. Tonks and Moody veered off through a door to the left when they reached the end of the hall, while the siblings continued to follow Mrs Weasley up a dark staircase, skirting several elf-heads attached to the wall, all of which had the same snout-like nose.

Harry's bewilderment increased with every step that he took. What on earth were they doing in a house that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

"Mrs Weasley, why –?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, we've really got to dash," Mrs Weasley whispered distractedly. "There –" they had reached the second landing "– Harry, you have the door on your right. And . . . oh dear, I don't know your name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth, you'll be bunking with Ginny and Hermione, my daughter and another of Harry's friends." She pointed down the end of the hall. "But it's probably best if you give your, uh, cockatoo for Harry to hold. And any trunks you might want to pack away." Mrs Weasley kept glancing down the stairs and appeared to be very rushed.

Elizabeth handed Rufus and her knapsack to Harry before taking the various trunks out of her pocket and unshrinking them.

"Mrs Weasley," Harry began, "where are you –?"

"I'm afraid you can't come with us, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley said, wringing her hands together before taking Elizabeth's arm. "Order members only." Then she ushered Elizabeth down the stairs extremely quickly. Elizabeth glanced behind her apologetically before she and Mrs Weasley disappeared around the corner. Harry was left standing with a bunch of suitcases, an owl, a cockatoo, a Bunyip, and two blearglobs, yet he had never felt quite so alone, quite so confused, or quite so jilted.

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Elizabeth followed the Weasley woman down the elf-head framed stairs. For the defenders of light, they had really picked quite a perfect place to hold Headquarters. It was ideal and very unsuspecting to any Dark wizards. After all, who'd believe that Dumbledore would choose this place with its clearly Dark Art lineage, as the Order Headquarters? Elizabeth certainly wouldn't have suspected, if it weren't for her being inducted by the headmaster. It was also clear that the place was under a heavy Fidelius charm, and that Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper – or so Elizabeth supposed after reading the scrap of informative paper Moody had given Harry, and recognising the writing.

"Now dear, don't be nervous," said Molly Weasley, stopping before the door that Tonks and Moody had gone through earlier. "You'll find that some of them can be a little intimidating at first, but, well, they're alright really. Although, now that I think . . . don't listen to anything Mundungus Fletcher has to say, unless it's been approved by Dumbledore."

Elizabeth raised a brow at the frowning woman.

Molly, seeing her expression, flushed. "It's just that, he's a common criminal, and I don't know why Dumbledore approved him for the Order . . . well, I'll leave you to judge for yourself." She swung open the door.

They stepped in to face the turning of a dozen or so heads, all of which peered curiously at them, or more specifically, at Elizabeth. Some people at the back were even stretching their necks in order to see over the heads in front. Elizabeth supposed she had to get used to all the observing, she was in British wizard culture now, and this lot were prone to speculative observations; even calculating ones. Elizabeth was now on the receiving end of three of these last gazes, two of which had faces framed by long black hair, the other brown, streaked with grey. Molly strode to a seat next to a red-haired man Elizabeth assumed was Mr Weasley, and plopped herself down on it.

Dumbledore sat at the head of this all.

He stood up now from his seat at the end of the table. "Welcome my dear, welcome. I trust you had no problems on your trip."

"Considering the trip took less than a second . . ." Elizabeth drawled.

Several of the Order started sniggering, and one of the black-haired men, the one with greasy hair, even smirked.

"Ahem, very good my dear," said Dumbledore a little reprovingly – though his eyes were crinkling – and gestured at the seat between the other black-haired man, and the brown-haired one. Elizabeth sat on it, glaring at the headmaster. He was looking entirely too smug, so she assumed straight away that the seating positions had been deliberate.

She discretely glanced at the men beside her, only to find they weren't extending her the same courtesy. The brown-haired one seemed to be trying not to stare, making himself more conspicuous in the process, while the black-haired man was full out glaring at her.

"Do you have a problem?" she asked, unabashedly meeting his gaze.

His eyes grew hard. "No," he rasped through gritted teeth, his voice stiff, "no problem at all."

"Ah, my dear," said Dumbledore, lips twitching. "I see you've met Sirius."

Her entire body tensed. A couple of trapeze artists seemed to be performing flips in her stomach. She was sure one even bounced up her windpipe.

"Sirius?" she queried, staring straight at the man in question. "Sirius Black?"

"Do you have a problem?" he sneered, throwing back her own words.

"No," she squeaked, eyes misting a little. Her Godfather!

Sirius smirked seeing her reaction, no doubt thinking he'd intimidated her.

She cleared her throat delicately. She was about to shock the heck out of him, and everyone else. "So if you're Sirius Black, then you –" she turned to the brown-haired man "– must be Remus Lupin."

Remus couldn't have looked more shocked if she'd sat in his lap.

Sirius harshly barked, "What makes you think so?" before Remus could reply.

Dumbledore hemmed loudly, breaking up the tension and placing everyone's notice back on him. "I think introductions are in order," he threw a glance at Elizabeth that held the twinkle of all the stars before beginning. "On your right is, as you've guessed, Sirius Black. On your left is, as you've also guessed, Remus Lupin. Then we have Alastor Moody,

Nymphadora Tonks, Molly, Arthur, Charlie and Bill Weasley." Elizabeth couldn't help but notice that Bill Weasley was _very_ good looking, and his brother came close. She had always been partial to redheads.

Dumbledore continued. "Next in the circle we have Emmaline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher –" Mundungus Fletcher revealed a yellowish grin "– Professors Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape –" they both inclined their heads "– Kinglsey Shacklebot, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle –" the little wizard bowed "– Sturgis Podmore, and Hestia Jones." Dumbledore drew a deep breath before continuing. "And, everyone, I would like to introduce our newest member, Eliza –"

"_AHHHHHHHHHH_! WHAT THE _BLOODY_ HELL IS _THAT_ THING?" a boy's voice bellowed before Dumbledore could finish.

Nearly everyone jumped at the ear-splitting statement, before turning their attention to the ceiling. An extremely muffled voice that sounded a lot like Harry could now be heard coming through the floorboards. A second later a girl's voice joined his.

"_OUCH_! IT BIT ME!" The first voice thundered down again, sounding surprised. "IF YOU DON'T LEARN TO CONTROL YOUR PETS HARRY . . .!"

Harry said something to that, but it was nearly impossibly to hear since he hadn't been shouting.

"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A BLOODY FRUITLOOP, KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME!"

"HONESTLY RON!" shrilled the girl's voice. "SHE'S COMPLETELY HARMLESS! YOU'VE JUST SCARED HER WITH YOUR SCREECHING! NO _WONDER_ SHE BIT YOU!"

"BUT IT WAS DOWN HIS FRONT!" yelled Ron in his defence. "STARTLED ME, IS ALL! I CAN'T EVEN GIVE MY BEST MATE A PROPER GREETING WITHOUT STRANGE CREATURES POPPING OUT OF HIS SHIRT!"

"IT'S A BUNYIP!" Harry finally barked, sounding extremely put out. "AND. HER. NAME. IS. MUCK!"

A few muffled grumblings followed that rackety bellow, before becoming quite.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, breaking up the sniggering around the table. Elizabeth noticed Molly Weasley was looking very pink in the face. Poor woman had to be extremely embarrassed.

"Leave it alone, Molly," said Dumbledore quietly, as the woman stood up out of her chair.

Make that extremely _angry_, Elizabeth amended, as Molly Weasley grudgingly sat back down.

"Now then," The headmaster took another deep breath. "I believe I was just about to introduce our newest member. Everyone, we are delighted to welcome Eliza –"

"SHE'S YOUR _WHAT_?" yelled the girl from before.

"MY SIS –!"

Dumbledore cast an impatient look up at the ceiling and flicked his wand, ending Harry's sentence before it had a chance to reveal any potentially disastrous conclusions; the headmaster needed to properly introduce her and explain, after all. Nevertheless, despite it being completely silent now because of Dumbledore's spell, Elizabeth still cracked up laughing. It was as humiliating as all hell – because no one else was doing it. Indeed, some were even staring strangely – but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Are you quite done?"

It took a second for Elizabeth to realise the question had been addressed at her. She stopped laughing, and nodded in that innocent little girl way. "Sure," she said, then ruined the effect by snorting.

Dumbledore stared at her over the tip of his glasses. She sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and in a bored, seemingly innocent tone that belied her penchant to cause mischief (which Albus noticed straight away) drawled, "I'm done, Uncle."

Expectedly, surprised mutterings followed that statement. Most of them sounded along the lines of "Uncle?" and "Niece?" and "Another relative of Dumbledore's?" Glances were exchanged from her to Dumbledore and back again, as though the listeners weren't convinced by her say so, and had to have it confirmed by a possible resemblance, no matter how obscure.

Dumbledore, either unaware or not caring of the inquisitive stares being sent his way, was shaking his head and glaring wearily at her. She knew she had just made it all the more difficult for him to introduce her as Harry's sister, because people would wonder why she'd insisted on calling Albus Dumbledore "Uncle." It implied she knew him intimately and familiarly, which would cause all sorts of problems of the Sirius Black variety; and possibly of the Remus Lupin one as well. They would be hard-pressed not to strangle the old wizard when they learned he had known she was alive this whole time, and was apparently on very friendly terms with her.

Well, if that happened, she'd interfere. She was very fond of the headmaster, and would not tolerate any harm to his person, physical or otherwise. Besides, she was the one who'd started the trouble.

"Elizabeth is my Niece," Dumbledore confirmed finally, after several imploring questions, "in heart if not in heritage," he added with a small sigh.

Elizabeth beamed at him, quite ignoring the bewildered stares that were directed at her.

"Also," Dumbledore continued, looking very old and put upon, "she is Harry Potter's sister."

There was a moment of puzzled silence, as if no one had quite comprehended Dumbledore's revelation. Before:

"She's . . . _what_!"

Sirius had shot up, unmindful of the heavy chair clattering to the floor behind him.

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A/N: Mwahahaahahaha! That's it for chapter eight. Unfortunately, from now on it will be a few long weeks before updates. What can I say? So many things, so little time.

What did you guys think of HBP? Personally, I loved it! If I introduce concepts or information from the sixth book in later chapters, I'll inform you beforehand.

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Note: I've no doubt there are other members of the Order that weren't there, like Hagrid and Aberforth, and probably a few others that we don't know of, but these are the ones I placed in this chapter. The missing members are all on missions and such.

Note: Cheeters can travel up to speeds of 80km/hr.

Note: A _wyrm_ is a type of giant snake in ancient mythology. Think basilisk, but wormier and friendlier.

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Please review. It makes my day to see them.


	9. The Slayers Part One

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: As always, thanks for the lovely reviews.

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_**Previous** **Chapter**:_

"Elizabeth is my Niece," Dumbledore confirmed finally, after several imploring questions, "in heart if not in heritage," he added with a small sigh.

Elizabeth beamed at him, quite ignoring the bewildered stares that were directed at her.

"Also," Dumbledore continued, looking very old and put upon, "she is Harry Potter's sister."

There was a moment of puzzled silence, as if no one had quite comprehended Dumbledore's revelation. Before:

"She's . . . _what_!"

Sirius had shot up, unmindful of the heavy chair clattering to the floor behind him.

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**Chapter Nine: The Slayers - Part One**

It was as though a bomb had been casually dropped in the room, such was the impact of Dumbledore's words.

After Sirius's minor vocal explosion and wrecking of his own property, the rest of the Order of the Phoenix followed up by a similar reaction, mainly along the lines of disbelief and scepticism. All this contributed to much noise and rackety inclinations of the expletive sort. Those who had been good friends with Lily and James and who had known about the eldest Potter child before her untimely 'death' (which pretty much meant half the Order) were resentful to think they had been lied to all these years, and those who didn't know, but were still surprised by Dumbledore's revelation, (which pretty much meant all the new members of the Order) didn't really know what to think at all besides confusion.

As it is, all these interruptions, talking over the top of each other, and butting in, made it rather hard for the Headmaster to get a word in edgewise, even though all the inquiring questions and spontaneous outbursts were being addressed in his general direction.

The only people not shouting or becoming red in the face were Alastor Moody (who looked suspiciously smug) Bill and Charlie Weasley (who found the whole mess hilarious) Arthur Weasley (who just didn't know what to think) Severus Snape (who was sneering, but considering that was his usual façade it was hard to guess what he was actually feeling about the current mess) Remus Lupin, (who was staring at the young lady next to him in a sort of silent horror) and Elizabeth herself, (calmly sitting with folded arms while she stared up at her raving godfather; who wasn't paying much attention to her at the moment).

Finally, after standing about as much of this as he could (Sirius's, ahem, _shouts_ were among the prominent of which) Dumbledore lifted his wand and . . . _whhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ it went, in a high-pitched whistling noise that caused everyone to clutch their ears in pain.

"THAT. IS. ENOUGH!" he boomed in that "don't cross me because I'm a powerful wizard" tone. "No Mundungus, Elizabeth has not been locked in Gringotts all this time, but other than that, yes to all alternative questions. I trust no one will ask whether she really is Harry's sister again. Now, will you let _up_?"

Rarely had anyone seen the Headmaster so flustered or so displaying all the powerful magical energy they had suspected he harboured, and they didn't dare cross words with him.

They slowly sat down, some looking abashed at their behaviour, which they agreed was somewhat uncalled for. Sirius, however, didn't exactly have the presence of a sane mind at the moment, and he continued standing, his chest waving with the harsh breaths his lungs expelled, and practically snarling at the old wizard.

"You . . ." he began. The low timbre in his voice sent shivers down most people's spines, but Elizabeth interrupted.

"Don't you dare blame Uncle Albus!" she spat as Sirius snapped his head around. He discovered her looming out of her chair, her eyes shooting some metaphorical sparks.

"Wha –?"

"It wasn't his fault! It was my father's. And you're not going to know why he pretended I was dead to keep me secreted away! It was a _secret_, and still is mind you. So don't go digging for answers. _I'll_ decide when I want to tell you. Not before."

Sirius stared, gape mouthed. "Huh?"

Someone sniggered at that. Or it could have been because Sirius was so much bigger than the girl, and looked so much more menacing, that they thought it was funny she was taking the Mickey out of him.

"Now," she continued, in a much more agreeable pitch of voice, "are you my Godfather?"

"Er –" Sirius said.

"Or course you are!" she insisted before Sirius could finish the sound. "And as a Godfather, particularly as my Godfather, you're supposed to be nice and you're supposed to act like a responsible adult. I have to have someone to look up to you know, not to mention Harry. And that means, what?"

"Uh –"

"It means that you are not to shout at the Headmaster anymore. You are to sit down, after repairing the chair with your wand, and stay politely silent, possibly even presenting an expression of mature decorum . . . all of which will be done after you greet me properly of course." Sirius stared at her. "Well?" she snapped, making him start. "Are you going to hug me or not?"

"I . . ." Sirius could not have looked more confused. Then his eyes softened, becoming almost foreign in their gentleness. This expression was something only Harry and Remus were familiar with. Sirius turned to the Headmaster imploringly. Dumbledore nodded, erasing any doubts Sirius might have had about the girl in front of him. Sirius gazed at the young woman, as he now knew certainly, was his first godchild. "Squirt," he said fondly, a slight tremor in his voice, then proceeded to squeeze the breath out of her. "I-I thought you were dead?" he whispered furiously. Only Elizabeth and Remus could hear the questioning sob in his voice.

"I think everyone did Sirius," said Remus from behind Elizabeth. "And I believe it's my turn to greet her now."

Elizbabeth chuckled and released her godfather (took a few tries first) before turning to the man who had been her best friend when she was little.

"What's the time Mr Wolf?" she said cheekily.

"How did you remem . . .? It really is you," he breathed, eyes scouring her face. "Little Beth." He hugged her. "You look so much like . . . well . . . you I suppose."

"Ha! And you look so much like you, Mr Wolf. But you've grown really old. Didn't even recognise you when I first saw you." Privately, she was questioning why she hadn't. She had known the man was a werewolf, but why that didn't register with him being Remus Lupin as well, she'd never know. False hope, perhaps?

Remus released her and frowned gently. "Thank you very much. I see you haven't changed."

"Nope, I'm still the same cheeky squirt I always was."

"More like cheeky bint now," Sirius supplied, yanking her to him in a one-armed hug. "Where have you been all this time?" he mumbled against her hair.

"In Australia," she answered truthfully. "Where d'you think Harry got that Bunyip? Now, don't we have a meeting to be going on with?"

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"You can't tell me you've been in Yonk Land all this time?" Ron exploded, after Harry had finished telling them all about Elizabeth.

"Yonk Land?" was all Harry could manage before bursting out laughing.

Ron looked uncomfortable. Then he looked even more uncomfortable when he spotted Hermione's glowering face. "That's what British wizard's call Australian ones," he said extremely quickly. "Well that or _Abercrombies_. . . N-not that I'd ever call them that!" amended Ron when Hermione raised a brow at him. "But, well that's just what they're called Hermione, I didn't make it up! Besides, they call us _Rainees_. That's a much more horrid name!"

"You'd best stop protesting Ron," said Ginny with a nasty grin. "You're only digging a deeper hole."

"Right," said Ron quickly, before slumping on his bed, putting his head between his hands, and moaning.

He looked both so relieved and so pathetic that the room's occupants (Harry, Hermione, Ginny and the Twins) couldn't help but laugh.

"So you really have a big sis now Harry?" said George.

"Met her in Australia did you?" said Fred.

"The land of sea, sun, and extra Quidditch space."

"Say, did you meet any young witches –?"

"– in need of a wordly wizard such as yourself?" George concluded.

"Obviously, dear brother, obviously," Fred said, observing Harry's pink face. "They succumbed to his British charms."

"That pale skin –,"

"– those green eyes.

"That hair!" they said together.

"Leave him alone you two!" said Ginny, swatting at them playfully.

"But I can't wait to meet her," said Fred, dodging Ginny's arm.

"Yeah," George continued, "anyone who can break a muggle secrecy law in order to paint a mural has got to be cool."

"She really is," Harry agreed, warming up at their obvious approval of Elizabeth. "You won't believe some of the other stuff she's done." Fred and George's eyes lit up. "But I'm not supposed to talk about that." Then visibly dimmed. "Yet," he finished, and they lit up again.

"Anyway," he continued, going to sit by Ron. "I've been really busy for the passed week and a half. Elizabeth bought me new clothes." Fred and George sniggered. "She took me surfing – even bought me a surfboard – and she took us running really early in the morning, and . . . er . . . well, some other stuff that I'm not supposed to say just yet –!"

"Wait a minute!" Ron sputtered, whirling on Harry. "D'you mean to say you _forgot_ to write?"

"Erm, yeah."

"Oh." There was a pause. Before: "Told you Hermione."

Hermione tutted. "That's long in the past Ron." She looked at his smug face and fairly snarled, "Get over it!"

"Guess what?" Harry said quickly, sensing another Ron/Hermione bicker coming on. "And this goes no further than this room . . ."

"Hurry up Potter!" said Ron.

"You're leaving us in suspense here," said the Twins.

"I'm just saying," said Harry, "and you don't have to do it if you don't want to; I'm not forcing you . . ."

"Get on with!" barked Ginny.

"Elizabeth gave me an Animagus book for my birthday," he finished.

There was silence.

"No way!" said Fred and George, awe and appreciation clear in their voices.

"Harry, do you know what this means?"

Harry did not think Hermione meant that to be a question.

"I do," said Ron excitedly. "It means –"

" – you'll be breaking the law if you so much as even _touch_ that book without Ministry permission," Hermione injected crossly. "How did your sister come by it anyway? It's illegal."

"She said someone owed her a couple of favours."

Hermione pursed her lips. It was obvious she didn't approve of favours.

"Brilliant," Ron said.

"So you want to do it then?" Harry asked them.

Fred and George looked affronted at the mere thought of not participating in this endeavour. "Are you kidding? We've wanted to get our hands on an Animagus book for ages! There are none in the library you know, they've taken them out of the Restricted Section. But of course we're going to do it now that we have a chance!" said Fred. "Ginny isn't though."

"What?" screeched Ginny. "Yes I am!"

"You're too young," George protested.

"I'm only a year younger than those three," snapped Ginny, pointing over at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "If Ron can do it, I can too."

"S'not how it works," said Fred.

"Oh yes it is! It's exactly how it works. Or I'll tell Mum you've been stealing corkscrew powder from that lamp in the hallway to make new sweets."

"You don't play fair Gin," George grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Seems we don't have a choice George," sighed Fred. "Besides, s'not for sweets we're getting it, it's for fireworks. Alright then Ginny, you win, but if you turn into a half-toad don't come to me with your problems."

Ginny crossed her arms. "Are you implying, Fred dear," she said through tight teeth, "that I have the personality of an amphibian.

There was spluttering.

"Not at all dear sister."

"Never meant to imply a thing, 'deed we didn't."

"It's just you're so intimidating."

"We can't help but blather on until we stick our foot in it, you see."

"Right," said Ginny, but she looked particularly pleased. She turned to Harry. "Can we see it?"

Harry grinned. "It's in my trunk."

"I'll get it!" Ron said, scrambling up from the bed and crossing in the direction of Harry's trunk by the door – he froze. He stared. He turned around. "Can you get rid of it Harry? Only I don't want to frighten it again," he grumbled.

Fred and George smirked.

"Sure Ron," Harry sniggered. He moved passed Ron and picked up a blinking Muck, who'd settled herself territorially on the top of his trunk, then walked back and placed her on Ron's bed.

"Hold it!" said Hermione as Ron bent over to pry open Harry's trunk. "Are you forgetting that what you're thinking of doing is illegal?"

"Come on Hermione!" cried Ron, abandoning his search for the book in honour of a – right then – more interesting encounter. "Sirius and Harry's dad did it!"

"That doesn't excuse –!"

"– _and_ they were younger than us when they started!"

"Still –"

"– _and_ they were hanging around a werewolf. _We_ won't be doing anything as dangerous. We'll be doing it for fun."

"And that's exactly why our situation is worse!" Hermione snapped. Ron blinked. "At least they had a serious motive, an excuse, something to keep them going. _You're_ likely to slacken off and loose focus – that's what you're _fun_ will do! _You'll_ probably be the one to end up a half-toad!

Ron looked like a fish out of water. "Are you saying you don't want to do this?" he said finally.

Everyone looked at Hermione, waiting for her reaction. By private agreement all knew they couldn't even attempt to do this without Hermione by their sides. They just weren't smart enough, and they didn't have the determination and excuse the Marauders had. They were more than likely to slacken off. If Hermione were there, she wouldn't let them. If she said no, they weren't going to do it. Simple as that.

"I _shouldn't_ do it," she mumbled. "But I will." Everyone released the breaths they hadn't realised they'd been holding. "Otherwise you might attempt it yourselves and get into all sorts of messes. But we have to follow the directions to the Tee! Get it? No slacking off, no fooling around, no tricks!" She glared at Fred and George. "If you want to do this you have to be serious about it. This isn't some piddley little Polyjuice Potion. That's child's play in comparison. This is an Animagus transformation. If you don't do everything correctly, you can die."

Ron audibly gulped.

"Exactly," Hermione said.

"Alright, so, everyone'll promise to be serious when we're attempting anything to do with the Animagus transformation." Harry offered.

"'Course," said Fred.

"Wouldn't dream of disrupting it," said George.

Ron and Ginny nodded. Hermione beamed. "Good, at least I won't have to worry about that. Now, I'm not sure what everyone else thinks, but _I_ think we shouldn't tell anyone about this! Not even to ask Sirius or Professor Lupin for help. I think we should keep it our secret. Who knows when it could come in handy."

Everyone, especially Fred and George, blinked uncomprehendingly at Hermione.

"Er, Hermione," Ron said finally, looking genuinely worried. "You're not coming down with something are you? You've been acting really strange all night. First when you agreed to actually do the transformation, and now –"

"It's not what you're thinking Ron," Hermione interrupted. "I'm only saying we shouldn't tell anyone in case someone accidentally blabs. The ministry will jump to put Harry in Azkaban if they find out he's been doing something illegal, and we'll be put in the cells next to him. No one can know."

"But surely Sirius . . ." Harry began.

"No," said Hermione firmly. "No one. It's not that I don't trust Sirius, Harry. It's just; don't you want to work it out by yourself? Have something to be proud of that you accomplished yourself? Without anyone's help but ours?"

Harry briefly allowed himself to journey into the land of fantasy. His dad had done it all on his own, with nothing but three of his best friends, no adults, no ministry, just books. He had actually managed it, and no one had known. No one had found out. "Yeah, I think I do," Harry said, then he thought of something. "But Elizabeth knows already."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh. I'd forgotten she gave you the book." She frowned thoughtfully. "Well, you don't have to tell her you're actually starting the process, do you?"

"I suppose not."

"She might guess, but she'll never know for certain."

"Admit it Hermione," grinned Ron evilly. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You just don't want anyone finding out because you're afraid you'll get expelled!"

Hermione went pink. "That's not the only –"

But what it wasn't they never found out. Several footsteps were now coming up the stairs.

"Uh oh."

Fred looked at George in horror, and quickly picked up the string of the Extendable Ears Harry had been told about earlier and gave it an almighty yank. There was a loud _crack_ and they vanished. Seconds later, Elizabeth and Mrs Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry. Oh yes. Kids, this is Elizabeth. Harry's sister. But I'm sure he's told you all about that. Must say, we were all shocked when she told us, of course. 'Specially Sirius."

"What happened?" Harry grinned.

"You mean what _didn't_ happen?" said Elizabeth, dryly. "And it's nice to meet Harry's best friends at last. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, is it?" She went forward to shake first Hermione and Ginny's hands (they took hers quite happily) then Ron's (who looked like a deer caught in headlights). "Looking forward to meeting you again some time, but right now I have to steal Harry for a minute."

"Oh, that's right, dear," said Mrs Weasley nodding knowledgably. "You can stay here and talk; everyone else will be coming downstairs to eat. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny, as everyone else sniggered.

Mrs Weasley didn't seem to notice. "Oh. I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, now. Ginny, your hands a filthy. What have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner please."

Ginny grimaced and followed her mother, Ron and Hermione out of the room, leaving Harry alone with his sister. She was watching him amusedly.

"Nice lot of friends you got there," she said, not unkindly.

"They're great," Harry agreed. "So, what do you need to tell me?"

Elizabeth sighed in that way that meant she had bad news to convey. "I won't be here for about two days."

"What –?"

"I'm leaving to find the other four Slayers. To ask their permission."

"But what about – hang on? _Four_ Slayers? I thought there were only two more? Well, three including you."

"Ah, so the old man's told you," Elizabeth nodded approvingly. "But no, there are five altogether, including me. The two you were told about are the only ones that consented for Dad to tell Dumbledore all those years ago. The other ones, especially Mabani Nakato, well he's very reclusive. Likes to keep his own company and identity secret, even from his immediate family."

"So how do his children . . .?

"Don't ask. I've no idea."

"So how will you convince him this time?"

"I probably won't," she shrugged, "but I have to try. Anyway that's not the only reason I'll be seeing them. They'll want to know I've finally found you."

Harry felt heat scorch up his neck. "Did everyone know about that except me?" he asked indignantly.

Elizabeth laughed heartily. "No need to get offended Babe. They all knew James Potter had another child."

"It's weird," Harry said finally, a small crease between his brows. "Nearly everyone I know knew about you, and everyone you know knew about me. Except I didn't," he finished in a grumble that made Elizabeth want to hug him.

"Cheer up, that's way in the past. We better go down then. I've already said my goodbyes, so –"

"You're going now?" Harry did not quite manage to keep the panic out of his voice.

"If I leave now, I'll be back sooner." Harry did not feel reassured. Elizabeth must have thought so too because she gave him a hug. He got a whiff of watermelon. "Don't worry, nothing's going to happen."

"But . . ." He couldn't help but feel this way. This would be the first time he was separated from her since they met.

"Tell you what." She released him from the hug but still held on to his shoulders. "I'll get you a souvenir. How 'bout it?"

"Alright," he said finally, looking up at her through his lashes. "Something really cool though."

"Ha! Of course. Nothing less for my Harry, I'd probably kill myself otherwise. Let's go then." She shrunk her suitcase and pocketed it, then whistled. Rufus soared from his perch at the end of Harry's bed and out the window. "He might meet me in Africa." Elizabeth said. "He hates portkeys. Once a night is enough for him." They went out the door.

On the first landing by the hissing gas lamp, Elizabeth gave him one last squeeze. "Remember to feed Sigmund and Emma. And don't let Muck cause trouble. Unless she wants to terrorise Kreacher . . ."

"That's the second time he's been mentioned. Who or what is a 'Kreacher'?"

Elizabeth started chortling uncontrollably; this was made difficult by the fact that she couldn't do it loudly. "Sorry," she gasped, seeing his wary expression. "You just looked so funny . . . Anyway, he's Sirius's house elf. A real mental case. I'd stay away from him."

"He has a house elf?" Harry didn't manage to keep the disbelief from his tone.

"'Course I do," A low voice whispered from behind, and Harry wheeled around, his heart thumping at the familiar sound. "Though I wish I didn't."

"Sirius. Professor Lupin." Harry said. His stomach turned a happy jolt at seeing them both standing there. For an instant, Harry desperately wished to greet Sirius like he greeted Elizabeth, but he was not sure whether Sirius would find it comfortable.

"Hello Harry," said Lupin, extending a warm hand. Harry took it enthusiastically. It felt _good_ to see his favourite Professor again.

"Hey," Sirius grinned, (actually he had been grinning the whole time) and Harry suddenly found himself with a face full of long, black hair. Despite trying to extricate the hair from his nose and mouth, Harry was feeling pleasantly taken aback at the show of affection from his godfather. He suspected it had something to do with Elizabeth coming back from the dead.

"What are you two doing here?" Elizabeth glared up at them playfully. "I've already said my goodbyes."

"Yes, but we wanted to see you off properly, Squirt." Sirius gave her a squash that nearly knocked the wind from her. "I still can't believe Harry didn't tell us he was living with you," he grumbled and frowned at Harry.

Harry shrugged innocently. "Wasn't allowed to."

"Leave them alone Sirius," said Professor Lupin after releasing Elizabeth from a similar hold. "She's told you we'll find out everything soon enough."

"_Oomph_! It'll be sooner if you let go of me," she mumbled against Sirius's robes. Sirius, looking abashed, released her for the second time.

"Well I'm off then." Elizabeth crushed Harry to her and he breathed in her familiar fruity scent. "See you later, Babe," she whispered. Then she was off, out the threshold and down the front steps in a whirl of movement that seemed almost unnaturally smooth. Harry blanched. Lupin moved to close the door behind her. He and Sirius hadn't noticed anything unusual, obviously; otherwise they would have said something. Probably still too stunned by her mere presence to notice anything supernatural about her. Harry expelled the excess breath out of his lungs. That had been close.

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The sound of multiple drumbeats and many raised voices greeted Elizabeth the moment she arrived in Africa. It was dark, and the glare from the huge bonfire that the local tribe danced around was flaring and crackling with heat. This was a muggle village, in what looked to be the middle of a wedding celebration. The bride stood before the flames decked out in resplendent beads and cornrows of hair, her beautiful skin glowing chocolate in the amber light.

Elizabeth however, was not here to see muggles, she was here to see the only wizard that could be found for miles around; a wizard that had situated himself _a la_ hermit style as far away from other wizards as possible (including his family). She was here to see the oldest living Slayer, Mabani Natako.

Unfortunately, it would take about ten minutes to actually reach him, even at full Slayer speed. Mabani had placed several heavy anti-apparating charms in a distance of a few kilometres in diameter on either side of his house. He was quite paranoid in his old age and did not venture out of his residence in the jungle. Except to Slay.

Leaving the revelry in the distance, Elizabeth ran, jumping rotted trees, dodging vines, slicing dense foliage. Silently, she cursed herself for having chosen to wear a skirt and boots tonight. She had known she would be meeting Mabani, but her urge to impress Harry's people had been greater than her comfort.

She briefly considered transfigurating her clothes, but dismissed the idea. As she had told Harry, the magic required to sustain a transfiguration of that length was impossible unless you had _Albusitis_. She wouldn't want her clothes falling off of her in the middle of Mabani's hut. The old man would laugh it off, but still . . . how embarrassing to be caught in a bra and knickers?

Finally, after only having fallen down once (but that had been because of a stray nut), Elizabeth reached Mabani's hut. It was small, ugly, old, and crooked, and looked as though it would fall over if someone tapped it on the side. It was situated between two long jungle trees, and had vines creeping up its length and through the windows, which were now glowing purple from whatever magic Mabani was performing.

He had certainly scared the local muggles with this act. Even with the wards around the place they did not dare enter this jungle, or face the wrath of the terrible 'witch' doctor. Little did they know.

Running her fingers through her hair to remove any bit of jungle that might have been caught in it, she walked to the front door and gave it a series of taps and scrapes that Mabani insisted all the Slayers learned if they wanted access to his home. That way he knew not to curse them. Elizabeth didn't understand why he bothered. He had known she was coming anyway. She had sent out her energy signal when she was still in Australia, and just before when she'd first arrived. He would have felt it the moment it left her body. Harry certainly had, and he wasn't even a Slayer.

"Com in Ee-lizz-a-bethh," a low, accented voice said. Mabani always pronounced her name with all the syllables very evident.

She creaked open the rusted door, stepped inside, and closed it again. She might as well have walked into a New York penthouse; such was the opulence of the hut's interior. Mabani may have been a hermit, but he wasn't a pauper. He was living it up grand out here in the jungle.

Mabani himself was decked out in style with rich maroon robes and burgundy-squared hat that looked as though it had moulded the length of his head. Under the hat, short white hair endorsed a heavily wrinkled, though still handsome face. He was seated on a leather couch smoking a long, wooden rod; a bright purple fire cackled on the marble coffee table before him, encased in a bubble. On top of the fire was a small cauldron.

"Seet," he said, still not looking up from whatever he was brewing. Elizabeth seated herself on the couch opposite, and watched as the violet flames cast eerie shapes on Mabani's leathery face. "Tea?" he offered, gesturing to the cauldron.

Elizabeth nodded. "Thanks."

Mabani whipped out his wand and conjured two completely round tea cups, before levitating the cauldron and tipping it on its side, so that the hot liquid pored into the cups.

Elizabeth took hers and sipped. She only just caught herself from grimacing at the bitter flavour. "You know why I've come?" she asked before the silence grew too heavy.

Mabani dragged in a bit of pipe smoke. "I knauu."

"And . . . ?" Elizabeth held her breath as Mabani drew another drag.

"And noorthing has cheenged."

A heavy disappointed settled in her stomach. She didn't understand why, she had known what to expect after all. "So you won't be changing your mind?"

Mabani slowly shook his head.

Elizabeth sighed. It was no good arguing with Mabani. He had lived one hundred and fourteen years, and in all that time he hadn't been known to change his mind once it had settled on something. But he lived by his own peculiar rules – including becoming a hermit – and it had not harmed him emotionally or physically, so, who was she to complain?

She cleared her throat before draining the remaining tea. Best to finish it now before she chickened out. "I thought you'd like to know that Harry knows about me now."

Mabani finally looked at her, the first time he had done so since she'd come through the door. "That eez why yuu wonted my 'elp."

"Yeah. Dumbledore has this whole thing going on where he's fighting Voldemort with the aide of a bunch of people. They need to be told. They need hope. I can give them that."

"Your bruther. Ee eez speshal. Harree Podda."

"Yes."

"Hoomm." He took another long drag. "Eef yuu need me. I weel 'elp," he said finally. Elizabeth gaped, she couldn't believe it. "Bot, they muust nat be toold abut me!" His eyes were suddenly very dark and fierce. Elizabeth swiftly pitied the dark creatures that had crossed Mabani's path over the century.

She nodded quickly. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it."

He bobbed his head. "Good. Nau. Com 'ere."

Elizabeth didn't hesitate. She jumped from her seat and onto the one beside the old man. Then she gave him a gigantic squeeze and received one just as awesome in return. Sometimes, embracing someone who could withstand the full extent of your strength had certain benefits; human comfort for one, not having to reign in your power for another.

"I've missed you Mabani," she sighed.

"And I yuu, Ee-liza-a-bethh."

She felt a momentary pang of guilt. Mabani was all alone out here. An old man and his jungle. She should have thought to visit him more often.

"'ow long?" he asked, and Elizabeth knew what he was asking at once. She felt another pang of guilt that she had to disappoint him.

"I have to leave. I have to see the others."

Mabani nodded like he understood. And he did. He stood up suddenly and walked to an old chest by the side of an ornament shelf. He rummaged in there a few minutes while Elizabeth looked on curiously. Finally finding whatever it was he was looking for, he walked back. He stopped before her and presented a small, carved barrel. He twisted the top and it opened, revealing a grey powder.

"For thee young won," he said, turning the lid once more and offering it to her.

"A souvenir?" she grinned, raising a brow. "You've been poking around in here again." She tapped the side of her temple.

"Oonly because yuu let me," he protested.

"Do I even want to know what's in there?" She sniffed at the powder, smelling nothing unusual.

"Ee will knauu."

"Fine, don't tell me." Mabani chuckled. She stood up. "I'll come see you in a couple months, then." She put her arms around him. "Don't get hurt okay?"

He nodded. She smiled. Then, she was gone. Out the door and into the darkness.

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Elizabeth released a breath of relief. After apparating passed several continents, she was finally here, in Arizona. A funny whirl passed through her stomach at the thought. There was no reason to get excited about the fact that she was in Arizona, she told herself sensibly.

Except there was a reason. A very big reason. A reason that made her legs jitter, palms sweat and heartbeat increase.

_Nahuel_.

Stop being such a ninny! she thought furiously. He was only one guy. One Slayer. Just because she'd had a crush on him since forever . . . Buckle up! There's a girl. Let's do it then!

She squared her shoulders, stood up straight, and marched across the lawns, counting the houses along. She could never remember which was his. They all looked the same to her. White and box-like. Well, what should she expect from a reservation?

And that was another thing. Why in the world Nahuel insisted he be integrated with the muggles, she'd never know. Well, unless they needed protection, which they didn't. He was a pureblood. He knew next to nothing about muggles. It was all very strange. Especially to the non-wizarding folk who lived there. They looked at him and his mother, Nita, with one of those "you-should-be-put-in-a-mental-hospital" type faces. Well why shouldn't they? Elizabeth was often inclined to think. What with all the dodgy smells wafting through the windows. Explanation? Nita was a Potions Mistress at Salem Academy, the only Wizarding School in the States.

Elizabeth stood in front of Nita's door now, smoothing back her hair, then stopping when she realised what she was doing. Who cared if her hair looked like a rat's nest from having to dodge branches in the jungle? She certainly didn't.

She raised her hand, and knocked. A few breathless moments later she heard the security screen open, then the main door. Nita stood in the doorway. Although, not a Slayer (her husband had been) she was still trim, tall, thin, and brown; a beautiful woman that had aged well. Only fifty four, she still had the same pitch black hair she was born with. It fell in a straight line all the way to her waist. Her dark eyes crinkled warmly when they saw who was at the door.

"Elizabeth," she smiled and embraced her. "Come in. Are you hungry?" She always asked that. This time Elizabeth was surprised to find that she was. She had forsaken Molly Weasley's dinner at Grimmauld Place in order to search for her brethren.

"Yes please," she told Nita, feeling warm when she received a welcoming chuckle.

Like Mabani's hut, this house was a whole lot bigger on the inside than out, and looked as though it might have seemed more comfortable in a resort. Carpeted floors that stretched the length of a football field was the result. The space was filled up by a kitchen, a few bathrooms, a couple of living rooms, and half a scour of bedrooms. It really was quite charming.

Nita led her into the nearest living room and rang for the house elf, Butty, (snigger) and a couple of pots of tea and some scones. ("You English," Nita would say, to which Elizabeth responded, "Only half.") Then they sat in wait for Nahuel, chatting about the past year's absence from each other. A clatter from the room next door caused Elizabeth to start and Nita to choke on her cup of coffee to keep from sniggering. Elizabeth grew red in the face.

"I think Nahuel's back," said Nita, staring knowingly over the rim of her mug at Elizabeth, who fidgeted, both from the stare and from anticipation. She knew that Nahuel knew she was coming. She had sent him the signal after all. And suddenly, there he was. Filling the room with his magnificent presence. Tall, dark, and gorgeous, he was the epitome of what a man should be, Elizabeth had often thought. Twenty three with bronzed skin, thick, black hair that covered his wide shoulders, and eyes of the same colour . . . he was worth sighing over alright.

"Elizabeth," he greeted.

His voice was worth sighing over too.

She stood up. "Nahuel."

They stared at each other for a full half minute before each realised what the other was doing and turned away, blushing slightly.

"How are you?" he asked.

She drew in a lungful of air. "Been busy. Harry knows about me now."

"That's great."

"Thanks. Anyway, I've come to ask . . . well first off, do you know what's been happening in England?"

He frowned slightly. "You mean the rumours that aren't really rumours – about that Dark Lord?"

"Exactly. And I was wondering, well I was wondering if, well, if I can tell Albus Dumbledore and a few others about you. They're trustworthy of course!"

He raised a dark brow. Damn it! she thought. His father had been the one who hadn't wanted James to tell Dumbledore about him, and it seemed that Nauhel carried the same sentiments.

"You're going to say no aren't you?" she mumbled, staring down at his leather shoes.

He chuckled. The sound caused a funny jolt in her stomach. _Don't blush. Don't blush. Don't blush_. You idiot!

"Why don't we sit down first?" he offered.

Elizabeth nodded and moved back to the couch, not at all surprised to find that Nita had scarpered. Cheeky bugger! She wanted to play the matchmaker.

"So are you then?" As soon as she said the words she mentally hit herself. Was she always going to end up sounding so, so, eager and impressionable around this man?

Nauhel had seated himself opposite. Good thing too, she didn't know what she would have done if he sat next to her. He placed a leg over his knee and frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. Should I?"

Elizabeth hoped that wasn't an actual question.

"I want to honour my father," he continued, gazing slightly to the left of her. "He didn't want his identity known by anyone other than the Slayers and their families. I think I should respect his decisions."

Elizabeth nodded, feeling heavily disappointed, though she'd known that might have been the case as Nauhel had loved his father very dearly. "Of course. No problem."

He pierced her with intense ebony eyes. "Thank you for understanding."

"Er . . . I . . . sure," she managed. "So how's Slaying been going for you? Anything interesting happen?" That was a safe topic. She could work with that.

"Chinese Fireball got loose from its enclosure, I chased it, subdued it, returned it."

"Oh." Contrary to what Dumbledore thought, Elizabeth only protected Europe. Nauhel protected the Asian countries, Canada, and some of North America. Also, a Slayer doesn't have to live in a country in order to protect it. Elizabeth herself was proof of that.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Sandy came back."

"Again?"

"He won't quit," she said blandly.

He chuckled.

_Will you stop doing that?_

"I wanna kiss you," he mumbled suddenly.

Elizabeth felt her heart stop, the room spin, she was pretty sure the earth tipped a degree. "W-what?"

"I said I missed you." He was frowning worriedly at her. Great, now he thought she was a mental case.

"Ahem, hmm, likewise."

He grinned. She sighed. She stood up. "I'd best be going then."

Nauhel shot up from his chair, coming to loom over her. Elizabeth felt her heartbeat increase. "So soon?"

Did he sound disappointed?

"I'm afraid so. Still have two more to see."

"Right."

"I'll see you soon then?"

"Uh-huh." He. Was. Staring. At. Her. Mouth. He leaned forward. She held her breath, only to release it again in disappointment. He had only kissed her cheek. "See you."

"Yeah." Get. A. Grip. "Say goodbye to your mother for me." She offered Nauhel one last smile, and disapparated.

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Elizabeth breathed freely when she reached her next destination. That meeting had been far too intense. It was always far too intense between the two of them. As much as she wished Nauhel could have given her permission to tell the Order about him, she was also glad he hadn't, if only because she didn't like feeling as though she'd lost her wits. And Nauhel always made her feel like that. It was getting rather exhausting.

Elizabeth hadn't had far to apparate this time. Only a couple of states over. It was somewhat unusual to have two Slayers living in the same country, but, who was she to talk?

This Slayer lived in the very heart of American Cinema. Los Angeles. It was nighttime, and Elizabeth had apparated to the 'downtown' district, meaning she'd gotten accosted several times by thugs. After smashing a couple of heads together, breaking a gun in half, and obliviating some memories, Elizabeth strolled the last bit of downtrodden streets until she reached the 'the wannabe' district. Here, there were tightly packed houses with nosy neighbours that would just as soon stick their heads out of windows to observe a curious sounding _crack_ than look after their one year-olds, which was why she'd apparated several streets away.

Now, Elizabeth walked up the lawn of a comfortable looking house and knocked on the door.

"I'LL GET IT!" sang a chirpy voice before the door was yanked open.

A small blond girl around Harry's age appeared on the threshold. Her hazel eyes widened imperceptibly when she realised just who had come to her house.

Elizabeth smiled. "Hello Buffy."

"Oh."

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A/N: Well? Not too disappointed I hope? I was a bit reluctant to present anymore OC's, but I had to, to make the story work. Tell me what you think? REVIEW PLEASE!


	10. The Slayers Part Two

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: I know I did say I wouldn't be having Buffy in this story, but . . . well you'll see what happens.

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_**Previous Chapter:**_

Now, Elizabeth walked up the lawn of a comfortable looking house and knocked on the door.

"I'LL GET IT!" sang a chirpy voice before the door was yanked open.

A small blond girl around Harry's age appeared on the threshold. Her hazel eyes widened imperceptibly when she realised just who had come to her house.

"Hello Buffy."

"Oh."

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**Chapter Ten: The Slayers – Part Two**

"How are you?"

Buffy frowned lightly, looking, for a moment, as though she hadn't understood the question. "Fine."

Elizabeth peered passed the girl's head, scanning the hallway. "Is your father at home?"

"Yeah . . . Does dad know you're here? 'Cause he's kind of on vacation now, so he won't be able to help y –"

"Slayers don't take vacations," Elizabeth interjected.

Buffy frowned. "Right," she said tightly.

Elizabeth lifted her brows. "Can I come in?"

Buffy released a short, irritable breath. "Whatever. . . DAD!" she hollered. "You-know-who's here!"

Elizabeth forced herself not to snigger at that. _You-know-who_ indeed!

Elizabeth stepped passed the threshold, determinedly ignoring Buffy's direct stare. She knew the girl resented her somewhat, but it wasn't anything personal. She resented all the Slayers, even her own father at times. Well, what did he expect? He had married a muggle after all, and had chosen to live in the muggle world, completely cutting himself off from the magical one. Except when he had to Slay. He hadn't even sent his daughter to a magic school, letting her make the choice of whether she wanted to be a muggle or wizard. Obviously, Buffy had chosen to remain a muggle.

And what a muggle she was. Boys, clothes, shoes, and cheerleading were her passions. Oh, and shepherding sheep, more commonly referred to as American teenage girls.

Elizabeth perused the inside of the Summers' home. Unlike Mabani and Nahuel's, Hank Summers' home was pure muggle. No hint of anything magical could be found lurking in cupboards or under the stove. Nothing. No magical pets, not even a sneakoscope that could be mistaken for a snow globe if a muggle should come over. It was a bit much. Hank had been raised in the magical world, after all, and to suddenly cut himself off completely . . . he was mental, that's what he was. Elizabeth had often wondered where he kept his wand.

Buffy led her to the lounge where Hank and Joyce were watching the early morning news. She looked pointedly at her father before scattering out of the room and up the stairs; her footsteps thumping heavily on the floorboards above.

Elizabeth turned to Hank, eyebrows raised.

He went slightly pink. "Sorry." He gestured upwards with his head. Elizabeth did not have to ask what he was sorry for. "She's just . . . you know how she is."

"You don't have to apologise Hank. I understand. How are you Joyce?"

Hank's wife was an attractive blonde of around thirty-five with warm brown eyes. She looked enormously like her daughter.

"Mm, here and there." She stood up from her perch on the chair. "Would you, like a beverage?"

Elizabeth smiled. Joyce was nothing like Buffy, personality wise. She had accepted Hank's role in the Universe with open arms. Not without fainting first, of course, (finding out your husband was not only a wizard but a superhero would do that) but ever since then she'd been a real gem. "No thanks. I've just been to Nahuel's, and before that Mabani's. I've drunk enough, as you can imagine."

"Hmm." Joyce looked between her and Hank. "I'll leave you two alone. I'm sure you have Slayer business to discuss."

"Actually, I don't mind if you –" Elizabeth stopped because Hank was frantically shaking his head behind his wife's back. "– get me something to eat," she finished, perhaps not so smoothly as lamely. "Instead of a drink, I mean."

Joyce looked puzzled. "O-kay," she said. "What would you like?"

"Erm, I don't really know . . ." Behind Joyce, Hank was rolling his eyes and shaking his head, though this time at the lameness of her response. "Anything?"

"Pizza?" Joyce offered.

"That'd be great!" Elizabeth said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Joyce only gave her a _very_ brief stare that suggested she thought Elizabeth might have been drinking too much caffeine, before smiling and walking out of the room.

Elizabeth glared at Hank. "Don't ever do that again. I've got too many people thinking I'm mental, don't need to add your wife in the mix."

"Sorry," he grinned.

"Now would you mind telling me why you don't want Joyce to hear our discussion? It's not like it's a big secret!"

Hank looked momentarily stumped. "Um, later maybe? First tell me what you're here for."

"You can probably guess."

"That Dark _Lord_ guy . . .?"

Elizabeth sat herself down on a squishy armchair and rolled her eyes. "The nutter is back, obviously. Do you mind if I tell –?"

He flapped a dismissive hand. "I don't mind who you tell. As long as they don't know my name, _especially_ my family name."

"Of course." Elizabeth had known that Hank, at least, wouldn't mind the Order knowing. He was like that. A real chap. "I thought you'd like to know, that Harry's found me out."

Hank looked genuinely pleased. "That's wonderful, Elizabeth. How did he take it?"

"I'm not sure. I wasn't the one to tell him. Dumbledore explained it all before Harry even met me. But he certainly seemed glad to see me when he finally did." Elizabeth eyed Hank's face. He was hiding something from her. And he was fidgeting. Not like him at all. "Hank –" she began.

"I have something to tell you," he admitted, looking up at her with sheepish eyes.

"Well obviously," she snorted. "I've been getting weird feelings from you all day. At first I thought it was indigestion, but then –"

"It's Buffy," he interrupted, looking even more nervous.

_What the heck was going on?_

"What about her?"

Hank stood up and walked to the fireplace, fiddling with the knick-knacks on the mantelpiece. He breathed deeply before focusing back on her. "I've had a dream," he confessed.

Elizabeth felt uneasy. "What dream?"

"Remember when Buffy was seven and she had that, that accident?"

How could she not remember? The child had been hit by a car. She had almost died. Hank had been distraught, had gone into a rapid decline. It took Antinaco, Nahuel's father, to snap him out of it by pounding the heck out of him. It had certainly helped open Hank's eyes and, in turn, saved Buffy's life. "Yes."

He laughed weakly. "Well, remember _how_ I helped her in the hospital . . .?

She paused before drawing out, "Yes. And?"

"And . . . uh . . . ha-ha . . . Buffy's going to be a Slayer."

Nothing was said for around two minutes after that. Elizabeth's mind had gone blank. "How, how do you know that?" she finally managed. "Just because of _how_ you helped her . . . it can't be that simple! We would have figured it out ages ago!"

"The dream –"

"The dream told you?" Elizabeth burst out. "Are you sure it wasn't something you ate?"

He stared reprovingly at her. "No. And you know it."

Elizabeth blushed. "Sorry. I can't believe . . ."

"Tell me about it. I wasn't planning on having anymore kids, you know. I was counting on Buffy's son continuing my Slayer line. But now . . ."

"Buffy!" Elizabeth exclaimed and gave a hearty guffaw. "Cheerleader Buffy is going to be a Slayer when you finally conk it? I can't believe it! At least I won't be the only female in the bunch anymore." She had a suspicious thought. "Oh Merlin! Does she _know_?"

Hank looked incredibly shamefaced.

"I don't believe it!" she said again, and burst out laughing. "Do the others know at least?"

Hank shook his head. "You're the first I've told."

"They'll feel something's wrong, you know. Just like I did. They'll come knocking. Well, except Mabani. He wouldn't care." She had another sudden thought and leaned forward in her seat. "I assume that Joyce doesn't know, and that's why you were so determined to have her leave the room?"

Hank nodded. "I don't think she could handle it at this point –"

Elizabeth was quick to pick up on the despair in his voice. "What d'you mean?"

"We . . . we've been having problems," Hank admitted, avoiding her eyes. "Of the marriage kind."

Elizabeth was horrified, but oddly not surprised. It was never spoken about, but it was not really permitted for a Slayer to marry a muggle. If their offspring weren't magical, they would die from harbouring the Slayer essence in them. And then . . . well, it was bye-bye for that Slayer line. Hank had taken a risk in marrying Joyce. But luckily, his daughter was a witch; she just chose not to be one.

But, _problems_? With their marriage? Elizabeth suspected it was everything to do with Slaying, and nothing to do with married life. Perhaps Joyce wasn't as accepting as Elizabeth had thought? But she didn't blame the woman. It was a hard life, being married to a Slayer. It took patience, love, guts, and strong mental health. You could never know when your spouse might end up dead.

"That's, well, horrible Hank. If there's anything I can do . . . ?"

He shook his head resignedly. "No, but thanks for offering."

"So, little Buffy is going to be a Slayer?" Elizabeth suddenly straightened, having been struck with another inspirational thought. "Hang on! Do you think it'll work with Harry?" she asked excitedly. "What you did with Buffy, I mean? That way, if I die, he can be a Slayer as well, however weird it is. I wouldn't have to worry about his safety!" She was half relieved just thinking about it.

Hank shrugged. "I don't know. We don't know if he has to be almost dead for you do it. Like how it was with Buffy. It might not work if you just do it off the block."

She slouched a little at that. "You're probably right." She changed the subject. "Joyce is finished in the kitchen. The stove just beeped."

Hank cocked his head to the side. "She's taking it out of there now. Are you _really_ hungry?"

Elizabeth went pink. "No, and you know it you bugger! I already ate at Nahuel's."

"Ah." Hank acquired a speculative gleam to his eyes. "How is he? Have you two finally –?"

"Shut it!"

Hank sniggered.

"There are more important things to be going on with at the moment. I've no time for romance . . . Of any kind!" she added pointedly.

"Not even if it was the physica –?"

"Especially!"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. You know if you just admit it –"

"I do admit it Hank. I don't make a habit of lying to myself, and well you know it. It's just . . . We're both Slayers, aren't we? If we had –" she blushed scarlet "– a child together, what would he or she be like? Dangerously powerful? No, it would never pan out. We need to continue our own lines separately. That means without each other," she added because Hank had grinned.

He shook his head. "You still don't get it do you?"

"What?"

"What you're saying is only a speculation Elizabeth –"

"– a pretty damned good one –"

"– and that means there are other speculations out there. Who knows? It could be that all your kids would have the power instead of just one. You never know."

"Why are we talking about this?" Her face had grown steadily redder throughout Hanks little speech. "It's never going to happen. Drop it."

"Okay. But I hope I gave you something to think about." He grew serious. "Life's full of risks you know. If you don't take them you'll get nowhere."

"I think I know that better than anyone." She waved a hand at herself. "Slayer, after all."

Joyce chose that moment to come back into the room. She was carrying a few _large_ slices of pizza. "I hope that's enough," she said, placing the plate on the table in front of Elizabeth. "I know you Slayers have large appetites. What?"

Hank had been silently sniggering at Elizabeth's horrified looking face. He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Er . . ." Elizabeth forced her eyes away from the grotesque pile of pizza to look at Joyce. "Might I have a paper bag?"

She looked perplexed. "What for?"

"Erm, it's just I'll be leaving, and I don't think I can finish all this by the time I have to go."

Dawning comprehension appeared on the other woman's face. "Oh, you mean a doggy bag?"

"Sure." Elizabeth nodded. "Doggy bag. Right." She laughed pathetically.

The thumping of footsteps sounded down the stairs.

"I'M GOING TO SCHOOL BYE MOM BYE DAD!" Buffy hollered. The sound of the front door opening and shutting came, then silence.

"Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but, isn't it a bit early to be going to school? It's only," she checked the clock on the wall "ten passed six! Not to mention, it's still a bit dark outside."

Hand and Joyce exchanged looks.

Elizabeth pounced. "What?"

Hank sighed, giving the impression that he'd been over this topic one to many times. "Cheerleader practice, or so she says."

"Ahh, I see. And you're not worried?"

"I, uh, might be keeping tabs on her," he admitted, looking sheepish. "And it isn't like she can't take care of herself."

Elizabeth raised her brows. "You've, er, taught her some moves then?"

Hank rubbed his eyes, looking, for a moment, rather tired. "When she let's me, yeah."

"I'm surprised she even consented," Elizabeth gave Hank a searching look. "What with the way she, well, doesn't exactly like anything . . . supernatural?"

"I hardly call teaching her how to fight, supernatural," said Hank, his tone almost as dry as Elizabeth's was known to be.

"Alright, alright." Elizabeth grinned and stood up. "I'm going now." She looked meaningfully between Hank and his wife. "I want you both to take care of yourselves." She paused and added, but only for effect. "In _all_ things."

Hank pierced her with a glare.

She looked at him innocently before shaking Joyce's hand, tipping a wink at Hank, and showing herself out the door with all the speed her body was capable of.

She wasn't worried that they might think her hasty exist to be rude. She had always left their house this way, giving the impression that she had important business to be going on with. She knew that Joyce, at least, would think so. Hank . . . well, Hank would likely be amused that she was showing off so much in front of his wife, who tended to be awed very easily. Which was why Hank refrained from showing her too much of his Slayer side. Elizabeth, however, did not have that inclination towards Joyce, so she did not mind demonstrating her abilities. In fact, she only did it for a spot of innocent fun.

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A large, brown body vaulting over the treetops and landing by her own feet in what looked to be a highly uncomfortable position, was what greeted Elizabeth the moment she apparated to New Zealand.

She peered down at it, a grin fairly smothering her face. "Having fun?"

"Ha ha," was what answered her before the body flipped up on its feet.

"What is –?" she asked curiously.

"No time," it grunted before it leapt, gliding back over the treetops and out of sight.

The next couple of minutes consisted of Elizabeth hearing smacking, crashing, thudding, hurling, cursing, growling and clawing noises. From the sounds, Elizabeth assumed that the brown body was now fighting what seemed to be one of the nastier breed of Cyclops'. It would probably take some time, so she settled herself down to wait, thinking she would pass the time staring pleasantly at her surroundings.

She was near a river. A very large and very blue river that looked wonderfully cool and fresh. It extended both left and right further than even Elizabeth could see. The grass on the banks was impossibly green, and the trees behind her and on the opposite bank were incredibly lush. And there were not only trees, but black mountains sitting gorgeously over the horizon. A very light mist floated just above the ground. It was chilly and it was daytime. Probably around seven in the morning.

Elizabeth thought back to the night before. She had slept a few hours in Bangkok after leaving Los Angeles, before venturing to Australia. Upon realising that Jarrah was not to be found in Australia – she hadn't been able to sense him anywhere – she had, once again, sent out her energy signal and gotten one in reply. Jarrah was to be found somewhere in the middle of New Zealand where no living soul ventured, except on school trips for Geography class.

Jarrah was a new Slayer. His father, her mentor, had died only six months ago. A gum tree, wielded by a particularly zealous 'Rock' giant somewhere in the middle of Western Australia, had pierced his upper chest, virtually severing it from the rest of his body. He had died instantly, leaving Jarrah to continue his line, and to avenge his death.

Jarrah was her best friend. No matter that they were six years apart in age. They had grown up together, sharing the same house and the same parent. He had learned his skills the same time she had learned hers. It hadn't mattered that he didn't have any power at the time, he had still sat in the same lessons she had taken. It was to prepare him for the future. Needless to say, when his father died, Jarrah had taken to Slaying like a child let loose in a toy store.

He was generally unfeeling and a very ruthless opponent. Elizabeth suspected it was because he was still grieving.

A few minutes passed with Elizabeth staring at the calm water before a dull sounding thud echoed through the trees behind her. A second later an enormous body, comparable to a mountain troll, broke through the trees, splintering them, coming to skid along the ground with a hoppity-skip, and finally stopping by her side, the buckety head dangling over the bank and into the water.

A moment later Jarrah burst through the trees at a speed that normal people wouldn't be able to follow, his eyes looking all the more ferocious in the early morning light. He stopped by the head of the Cyclops, sparing her a brief irritated glance, before grasping the head between his hands and plonking his foot at the base of the Cyclops' neck.

Elizabeth had not moved during all this. She had remained ever seated by her place on the bank. But seeing the position Jarrah had moved into now, and realising what he was about to do, she leapt up and caught his hands before he could to do it.

He struggled briefly in her hold, his eyes flashing at her daring. "What. Are. You. Doing?" he spat, wriggling out of her grasp. "It's evil! It has to be slayed!"

She shook her head, pity briefly obscuring her gaze, before she threw a hard stare his way. "No."

He stared at her incredulously. "What do you mean 'no'? Giants are evil!"

She sighed shortly. "Not all of them! Don't blame the Cyclops for what happened to your father, Jarrah. Let got of it!"

"It has to be stopped," he growled. His eyes grew hard when she moved into a defensive position, stepping before him and the Cyclops.

She did some growling of her own. "Was it attacking anyone? Was anyone here? This place is completely isolated. Did you just decide to come and kill it for no good reason?"

"Shuddup! You don't understand! Your parents died when you were young, when you could hardly remember them. Now move out of the way!"

"That's Bull!" she snapped, finally loosing her patience. She had known Jarrah hated all breeds of big people with a passion, but she hadn't understood it was this extreme. "Your father was my father. It cut me just as deep when he died. But I don't go around beating on unsuspecting giants. You need to let go of your anger. It's not good for you. You're too volatile as it is!"

Jarrah stared at her for the longest of times, his brown eyes hard. Then, he slumped, looking extremely tired. "I know." He ran his hands over his face. "You're bloody right." He spared one last pathetic glance at the Cyclops. "Let's get out of here." He apparated.

Elizabeth sighed in relief then looked at the sixteen foot body before her. She bent over and moved the head out of the water before dragging its entire weight into the edge of the forest.

There, if any muggles flew by in a helicopter, they wouldn't be able to see it.

She stared at the grotesque visage for a second. Its one eye was completely black from Jarrah's fists and its body had numerous scrapes and bruises on it. She frowned, not even certain as to what she was frowning about. She had been wrong. This Cyclops wasn't one of the nastier breeds. It was a vegetarian. She shook her head disapprovingly, picked up its hands and moved them on its chest. There, at least it looked more comfortable. She huffed to herself and disapparated.

xxxxxx

She arrived in Jarrah's living room to find him pacing. This brought her up short because Jarrah didn't usually pace. He was brown-skinned, bristly, extremely tall, (6' 6) and muscly, so it was quite disconcerting to watch such bigness display such liquid grace. He finally stopped pacing and slumped down in a recliner. "What am I going to do?" He looked over at her, displaying a curious amount of sadness in his gaze.

"See a therapist?" she suggested.

He snorted. "Yeah, that'll help. I can see it now. 'Tell me? Have you had a traumatic experience lately?' 'Well, my father was slain by a rock giant out in the bush about six months ago. I had to bury him in two different pieces – does that count?' Right."

Elizabeth couldn't help the twitch of her lips at his dry tone. "Well at least you can joke about it now. Isn't that supposed to mean that you're getting over it or something . . . ? Or do you expect me to believe it was my little speech out in the woods that did it?"

"Stop being so cocky, Elizabeth. You're not _that_ great of an influential speaker." He ran a hand through his short, bristly dark hair.

"I do try my best."

He humped. "So what are you doing here? I thought you moved back to England with your brother."

Elizabeth was brought up short. "How the heck did you find out about Harry?"

He snorted, looking smug. "I keep tabs on you. I saw you both running along the coast one morning."

"You butt! I didn't feel you at all!"

He smirked. "Because I didn't want you to. Anyway, that can't be the only reason you've come back." He searched her face. "You want something."

Elizabeth sighed. There was no dancing around it. Jarrah was far too observant and knew her far too well. "I want to tell Albus Dumbledore about you, and some of his friends."

"As long as they don't know my –"

"Name, I know. Honestly, you're just like Hank."

"You've been to see him have you?" He crossed his arms, glancing at her slyly. "And the _others_?"

Elizabeth did not miss the emphasis he put on the word 'others'. "Drop it!" she snarled.

He laughed. Elizabeth growled. He was so bloody irritating! Not only him, but Hank as well. They were two peas in a bloody great pod, is what they were. She told him so.

"Well when you're so obvious about it . . ." was his drawling response.

Elizabeth would have been mortified at that, if she hadn't known that maybe, possibly, a little bit, Nahuel felt the same way.

"How long are you gonna stay for?" he asked, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"As long as it takes to pack everything in the house, shrink it, and get it ready for portkeying to England." She moved over to a chaise lounge chair adjacent to the couch. "Then, I'll probably spend the night here for the last time before apparating back to the home country. The house in Surrey is almost finished now."

Jarrah stared at her. "You know," he said, frowning a little. "It's gonna be really weird without you here."

"Tell me about it!"

"Are you gonna say goodbye to Tony?"

"M'not sure." She shrugged. "We've kind of drifted apart since graduation. Besides, he already knows I'm moving to England. We've already said our goodbye's ages ago."

Jarrah inclined his head and grunted. "I still can't believe you were best friends with that twit!"

"He's a bit dim –"Jarrah grunted again "– but he's alright. He's got a girlfriend now, you know?"

Jarrah put a mocking hand to his chest. "No." Then he frowned, puzzled. "Really?"

Elizabeth nodded. "They're engaged to be married." She stood up and planted both hands on her hips. "So are you going to help me pack, or what?"

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The kids, Sirius and Mrs Weasley had found themselves spending the last couple of days in the drawing room, emptying it of its dark art contents. A few times Kreacher would sidle in and attempt to do the same, although for different reasons entirely. He would even go so far as to sneak them under his loin cloth – which Harry found particularly disturbing – and secret them away to his little alcove in the attic.

Harry really didn't know what to make of Kreacher. The first time he'd met him, he'd been reminded of a cross between a pug and a shrivelled up date, except more crotchety and less red. He'd also had an urge to laugh at some of the absurd things the elf had said and done, and at the same time he had become angry at him because of those very things. Though, not as much as Ron and Ginny, and particularly Sirius. Kreacher and Sirius loathed each other about as much as, if not more, than Harry and Snape loathed each other.

The only good thing about Kreacher hanging around, though, was that Muck had taken to hanging around as well. Ever since Harry had come to Grimmauld place she had, practically, not let him out of her sight. The night Elizabeth left Harry had followed Sirius and Lupin down the hallway to dinner, only to find Muck squatting in front of the door to the kitchen, her enormous sapphire eyes blinking stubbornly up at them. She would not budge. She even went so far as to nearly bite Sirius's hand when he stooped to gently shove her out of the way. In the end, Harry had been forced to pick her up and take her into the kitchen with him. She had sat on his lap the entire time, with Harry feeding her scraps of his dinner.

Harry had never had a dog, but he imagined this was how one would act. Even her territorial reaction towards Sirius had prompted a snigger from Professor Lupin.

But Elizabeth's prediction that Muck would terrorise Kreacher if Harry let her, proved to be true also. She had taken one sniff at the elf and had pounced, chasing him from the room, and providing much entertainment for everyone else, especially Sirius, whom she had, weirdly, developed a liking for after realising he had meant her and Harry no harm.

The six Hogwartians had also, finally, taken a thorough look at the Animagus book Elizabeth had given Harry. Or more to the point, _Hermione_ had taken a thorough look and had yet to give the book back, even secluding herself in the room she shared with Ginny at odd hours of the day – meaning breakfast and lunch – for twenty minutes at a time. The others would have minded this, if it weren't for the fact that they all knew Hermione was incredibly bright and having her read it first would definitely give them an edge of understanding they wouldn't have had if they had read it on their own. But for someone who had recently been vehemently adamant about not even _touching_ the book, Hermione was certainly changing her tune.

And Harry couldn't wait to discover what was so interesting about a book that had grasped Hermione's attention so fiercely. But, as Ron had unhelpfully pointed out, _any_ book would interest Hermione, no matter if it was interesting or not. Still, Harry wished now that he'd taken the time to at least skim through the book before he had arrived at Grimmauld Place and told the others about it.

"Alright you lot," said Mrs Weasley now, breezing into the drawing room, her hair looking slightly harried. "Dinner is on the table, but I want you to wash up first. You too Sirius." She spared an oppressive glance at Sirius's ash-smudged face and hands. "George what are you doing with those curtains? Stop playing around please. And Harry, make sure that Muck stays on the floor this time."

"Don't worry Mum," said Ron, barely repressing a chortle. "She's not going to attack Moody again."

"Well thank goodness for that!" said Mrs Weasley restlessly. "But it doesn't matter since he isn't here. Oh, I've also drawn an extra chair for Elizabeth, if I'm not wrong that she's arriving soon."

Harry's heart swelled at remembering that his sister was coming back tonight. He and Sirius exchanged heart-filled grins.

"I'm giving you five minutes, everyone, or we start eating without you," were Mrs Weasley's last words before she whirled out of the drawing room.

xxxxxx

"What are you grinning about Harry?" asked Hermione after she, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Fred and George walked up the stairs to the second landing, making their way toward the bathroom. They had parted with Sirius at the top of the stairs. He had left to go to his room to wash up, which had an ensuit. Muck was walking under their feet. Incredibly, no one had stepped on her yet.

"I've just remembered that Elizabeth's going to bring me a souvenir from whatever country she's been to."

"Wicked!" said Ron, Fred and George together.

"Have any idea what it'll be?" asked Ron, pushing open the door to the large bathroom. They each moved to the four separate taps stored below the large snake-head framed mirror. Fred and George, and Ginny and Hermione shared a tap, respectively.

"Haven't a clue," Harry admitted, now soaping his hands. "But I know it'll be something really cool! She always gets me stuff like that."

"Yeah," said Ron, looking curiously over at Harry. "Like that leather jacket?"

For some reason, Harry blushed at this. "Yeah," he mumbled. "But not just that. One time she got me these 'Boardie' things. Er . . . they're swimming trunks." Harry explained to Ron's questioning look. Fred and George snorted. "And a pair of, um, 'flip flops'. Because she lives near the beach and we went swimming everyday. . ."

Fred whistled. "No wonder you don't look that pasty anymore."

Harry was too happy about Elizabeth's upcoming arrival to be embarrassed about that.

"Yes well, as interesting as all this is . . ." said Hermione, taking the time to wipe her hands on overhanging towel, before turning to face the others. "I'm afraid we have some rather difficult news."

Hermione's tone sounded so disappointed and apprehensive all at once that everyone immediately gave her their undivided attentions.

She drew in a lungful of air. "I've just finished reading _Animagus: How to become one –"_

"Already?" Ron said, half in awe half mockingly.

Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him. "– and I was right about it being an extremely difficult process. The strength and determination it would take to achieve the transformation . . . well, that's bad enough, but the potion will probably be the worst. Some ingredients just aren't sold in apothecaries. And one ingredient I haven't even heard of, not to mention I've no idea where to find it. And if we do finally learn where to find it, we'll probably have no access to it. Who knows, we might have to gather it ourselves –"

"Are you saying we won't be able to do –?" said Harry quickly, but Hermione interrupted.

"Not at all! I'm just saying it's going to throw a wrench in our plans. It's probably going to take a really, _really_ long time to research everything and to find that wayward ingredient. And that doesn't even count brewing the potion, drinking it, and actually taking the initiative to transform into our animals without flinching or being afraid." She cast a glance at Ron as she said this. "No wonder it took the Marauders three years to become Animagus's Harry. If they had as much trouble getting that one ingredient as we're going to have . . ." she trailed off at the look of burgeoning disappointment on everyone's faces.

"But–But if Harry's dad and Sirius managed to do it," said Ron, "surely _we_ can? Surely the ingredient is something they had access to? They _must_ have found it at Hogwarts. They couldn't leave Hogwarts during the school year after all."

"That's sound reasoning Ron, but you're forgetting something," explained Hermione patiently. "It took them _three_ years. Which means they _did_ leave Hogwarts. They went home for the Summer holidays."

"And who knows," said George, leaning in slightly. "Maybe the ingredient was something Sirius's mother had stashed away here at Number Twelve? If it isn't easily accessible like you said Hermione, it has to be something bordering on illegal, right? And we know the Black's were all into that kind of stuff. Maybe Sirius filched it from his dear old mum? Simple as that."

Harry thought this was a bit extreme. Hermione, however, looked thoughtful. "You know George; I wouldn't be surprised if it was something like that. Sirius might well have known what the ingredient was without having to research it. He is a Black, as you said."

"Yeah," said Ron, looking like he wanted say something impressive as well. "A-and he, er, he probably could've heard illegal things discussed around the dinner table all the time while he lived here, right Hermione?"

"But that could mean that it might still be here!" said Harry, becoming excited.

"With all the cleaning we've been doing?" Hermione snorted. "We've probably thrown it out by now if it really was here."

The others looked horrified at that.

"Let's just hope that Kreacher's sneaked some out then," said Ron hurriedly. "We can nip up to the attic after dinner and go through the stuff he's nicked."

"I doubt it's there, Ron," said Hermione. "He only steals things that have value to the Black family name, or something personal of Mr and Mrs Black's. He won't bother with a potion's ingredient. Also, we're basing this on an assumption. It might not have even been here at all. Besides, we don't even know what it's supposed to look like. We have to research it first."

"Well how can we do that if we don't know anything about it?" Ron exploded.

"I never said that," said Hermione calmly. "All I said was that we don't know what it looks like. But we do know its name. _Brillogsopor Clanniria_. Now all we have to do is start researching."

All the boys silently groaned at seeing Hermione's glowing expression of anticipation.

"Well it's not going to drop in our laps, is it?" she gritted out, after observing their hang-dog faces.

"Well, erm . . . we can't do anything now!" declared Ron triumphantly. "We'll have to wait until Hogwarts begins to start searching the library."

Hermione looked like she just barely managed to restrain from rolling her eyes. "Honestly Ron! Do think there aren't any books here?"

Ron's ears grew red.

"Er, but we'll still leave that for you to do if you don't mind Hermione," said Fred quickly. "You're the best at research. We'll just get in the way."

Harry, Ron, and George nodded.

Ginny glared at them. "_I'll_ help, Hermione," she stated. "In the meantime, shouldn't we be having dinner?"

Ron's eyes bulged. "They've started without me!" he choked, before whizzing out the door.

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Later that night Harry awoke to a particularly vicious snore from Ron's end of the room. Normally, he would not have minded hearing his friend's vocal symphony (he would just go straight back to sleep anyway), but this time he became annoyed. Couldn't Ron have thought to keep his snoring to himself? That way Harry would not have had to exit the interesting dream he'd been having. It hadn't been an ordinary dream; he knew that much; which was why it made him so curious to find out its conclusion, and so annoyed at his best friend.

In his dream he had walked down a long corridor, at the end of which there was a locked door, light shimmering around its border. He desperately wished to discover what rested behind that door. And he would have made it, would have almost touched the handle, if it weren't for –"

"HAARGGHHHH!"

Ron's snoring seemed a thousand times louder now that he was awake.

"Ugh! I'm going downstairs." Harry threw back the covers, shuffled into his carpet slippers, and opened the door.

A tugging on his pyjama-pant leg brought his attention down. Muck sat squatting, looking up at him. He resisted the urge to either laugh or roll his eyes. Soon he wouldn't even be able to go to the bathroom alone.

"You stay here," he told her. She blinked and cocked her head to the side. "I'll be fine, go back to sleep. Or you can watch over Ron for me." She blinked again. She hesitated. She turned. She trotted over to Ron's side of the room. Harry waited until she curled up at the foot of Ron's bed before closing the door.

As Harry walked the hallway and down the stairs he could not help noticing how much spookier Grimmauld Place seemed when no one was about. For one it was completely dark, no lamps of any sort lit the corridors. For another, the elf-heads framing the staircase appeared grotesquely alive, and the portraits in the hallway, creepily, reminded him so much of those scary haunted house movies, where the hero would walk in and the paintings would follow him around with their eyes. The fact that Harry _knew_ the paintings were following him with their eyes as he passed under them, was, disturbingly, even scarier than if he didn't know. And the fact that all of them were Black ancestors didn't exactly help to bolster his confidence either. It gave him the collywobbles.

When Harry passed Mrs Black's portrait on the first landing he jumped when it gave a grunting snore. He snorted in disgust at himself, realizing he was being stupid, and pushed open the door to the drawing room.

This room, in similarity the rest of the house, was totally black, no pun intended. All Harry could see was the very faint murky outlines of the furniture. The cupboard, the mantelpiece, the chair, the sofa, and a couple of other things that he knew were in the room, but he couldn't see. Harry thought that since it was the middle of the night and he couldn't exactly fall asleep upstairs, it was a good idea to move to the sofa now and catch a couple of winks there instead.

He did just that, moving slowly in case he tripped over any stray washcloths and the like that might have been left from their cleaning earlier. When Harry reached the sofa he slipped off his tartan slippers, stretched a bit, and slumped heavily down on something squishy; something moving.

The squishy thing went "AAAGGHH!" just as Harry jumped up, in the process tripping over his carpet slippers, and landing stupidly on his face.

"What in Merlin –?" said a groggy voice. "Who's there? _Lumos_. Harry? What the heck are you doing down there? Hang on, I'll help you up."

The voice was now recognisable as Elizabeth. Harry felt her literally pick his entire body up off the ground before plonking it next to her on the couch.

"Are you all right?" she asked, moving her wand towards his face so that he had to squint to see anything. "Oh sorry. _Nox_." There was darkness. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

Harry coughed. "Me? What are _you_ doing here? How come you didn't turn up at dinner? Mrs Weasley even had an extra plate set out for you."

"Oh." Even though it was dark and Harry couldn't see much beyond Elizabeth's outline, he could tell that she sounded sheepish. "Well, I did say _about_ two days didn't I? Not _exactly_ two days. I can't help it if you interpret my words differently. Anyway, I arrived about three hours ago. I didn't want to wake your friends up by sneaking into their room, so I thought to sleep here. Speaking of, what are you doing here exactly?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Really?" There was enough sarcastic inflection in that word that Harry couldn't possibly miss its meaning. He had accidentally sat on her with the intention of napping, after all.

"Alright, I _could_ sleep," he said, realising he'd just left his glasses upstairs, "but not with Ron in the same room."

"Ah. Snores like an ox does he?"

Harry sputtered to keep from laughing. "Does an ox snore?"

Harry could almost _feel_ the shrug in her voice. "Wouldn't have a clue."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"So," Harry finally said, convincing himself he wasn't fishing for the present his sister had promised him. "You've been to how many different places?"

"About a dozen," she answered. "And yes babe, I did get you a souvenir."

Harry blushed at her dry tone.

"As a matter of fact Mabani gave it to me. Said you'd know what to do with it."

Harry felt the couch scrunch as Elizabeth stood up and rummaged through a pile of clothes at its foot. It was only then Harry noticed she was wearing her watermelon pyjamas.

"Here we are!" She hopped back on the sofa. Harry could just make out what looked like a small oval thing sitting in her hand. He took it.

"What is it?"

"Don't know. There's some kind of powder in it." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "If you ask me, it's the same stuff Mabani puts in his smoking rod. And that's why he's so, erm, unconventional."

"You mean to tell me this stuff is . . . you know?"

Elizabeth laughed stiflingly. "Wouldn't count on it!" More laughter. "He wouldn't give you something like that."

"Right." Harry pocketed it.

Elizabeth tapped the side of his shoulder. "Anyway babe, I thought you'd like to know that our house is almost finished."

Harry sat up. "Y-you mean the one in Surrey."

"Yes. Are you all right? You seemed disappointed."

"I wasn't," said Harry quickly.

"Harry it's okay. We don't have to move there straight away if you don't want to. I know you'd like to be with your friends. And Sirus and Remus. I do too, now that I think about it. It's been too long since I've seen them. Can hardly remember them as it is. I want to get to know them again."

Harry sighed in relief. "Okay." Then he yawned, loudly, and ran a hand through his hair. He stood up reluctantly and mumbled, "I better go to bed. Ron ought to have stopped snoring by now."

"Don't be an ass," said Elizabeth conversationally. Harry gaped. There was movement as she drew over the covers from the other side of the couch. "You can sleep here. There's plenty of room if we both tuck our feet in. It'll be all warm and snuggley. Come on!"

Harry grinned and sat back down, drawing the rest of the covers about himself. Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder just as he rested his on the sofa's armrest. "You make a very comfortable pillow." She yawned. "My Harry." All too soon her breathing became steady, the sign of a deep sleep.

Harry spared her a fond look, his chest swelling with so much happiness he thought it would burst. This wasn't his life, surely? Harry Potter didn't get to have a proper family, or friends, or godparents, or anything like that, with them all living under the same roof where he had access to them whenever he liked. Yet here they all were. He couldn't believe it. Since he'd met Elizabeth, everything seemed to be going right. Everything seemed to fit so smoothly. His life seemed to make sense. He just hoped it didn't change.

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A/N: Now you know how Buffy features into the story.

And now you know a little bit more about Elizabeth's life prior to meeting Harry.

Also, you guys remember Tony don't you? From the fourth chapter? Elizabeth mentioned him to Dumbledore. He's just a friend she knew from school that drifted away. No one even remotely important.

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I would like tons of reviews please. Actually, I'm surprised how fast I've updated this time around.


	11. The Ministry

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

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**Chapter Eleven: The Ministry**

"We can't be that thick, surely? We should have found something by now," grumbled Ron as he absentmindedly flipped another page of the large leather-bound book on his lap, not taking the time to even look at the page. Hermione, noticing this, scowled.

"If you're going to research, Ronald, make sure you actually _research_?" she said disapprovingly, then dipped her quill into the ink bottle on the table by her side and scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. She, too, was flipping through a book, although with a lot more resolve than Ron.

Ron glowered unpleasantly at nothing in particular before snapping the book shut and dumping it in the pile that lay haphazardly by his feet. Then he put his head in his hands. "If I wanted a lesson in _How to polish a cauldron in Fifty Different Fantastical Ways_ I'd have asked Percy for one."

"No you wouldn't have," Hermione said patiently, not even glancing up from her note-taking.

Ron glared at the floor.

Harry, who had been told all about the wayward Percy, thought it best to intervene before the situation got out of hand, as almost always happened with Ron and Hermione recently.

"You have to admit Ron's right, Hermione," he said. "We've been looking through all these books and we haven't found a single mention of _Brillogsapor Clanniria_ –"

"That's because you two thickheads can't be bothered doing the proper research," she said nastily, quite ignoring Harry and Ron's open mouths. "You'd rather play chase across the drawing room with those spoons Fred and George enchanted for you. And don't think I haven't seen you at it!" she added as both boys blushed.

"Well what about the twins and Ginny!" said Ron, trying to save face in all his embarrassment. "Why aren't they helping?"

"Someone needs to keep watch, don't they?" said Hermione in a bland voice that suggested Ron hadn't even asked a stupid enough question to warrant a passionate answer on her part. "There are at least three different entrances leading up and around to this drawing room. The twins and Ginny are the lookouts. They're not here because they're making sure that no one sees we're looking through all these dark arts books."

Ron's ears went red at Hermione's tone, but he, incredibly, didn't pursue the potential argument, apparently still too embarrassed at his slight.

But that didn't mean Hermione wasn't going to pursue it. "And what about your promise?" she now said. "About not fooling around if you want to truly accomplish this?"

Both Harry and Ron ducked their heads at that, avoiding Hermione's probing gaze.

"And," she continued diligently, seeing that she'd finally gotten them on the defensive, "I would have thought that you, at least, would be serious about all this Harry –"

"What do you mean by that!" said Ron angrily. "Are you saying I'm never serious?"

Hermione took a deep controlled breath through her nose. "No, I only meant because Harry's dad was an animagus, so Harry should try to work harder at all this. He has more to live up to, and should have more driving him on, so to speak."

"Yeah, well . . ." Ron stuttered, becoming embarrassed at yet another blunder on his part.

But he didn't have a chance to be embarrassed for long this time, as Ginny's head popped through the door. "A whole bunch of them are coming! Mum as well!"

Quickly, calmly, and with precisely planned movements that indicated that they might have done this all before, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gathered the parchments, inkbottles, quills, and books and shuffled them under the coffee table before covering the lot with Harry's invisibility cloak. Just outside the door, they could hear Fred and George in the middle of spouting off one of their highly dramatized distraction techniques.

"So is it true –" Fred began in a tone that a Daily Prophet reporter might use.

"– and it's alright if you say it isn't, our hearts won't break, we assure you –"George interrupted using a similar tone.

"– that young Australian wizarding folk –"

"– our age or thereabouts –"

" – prick themselves with wild Billywigs –"

"– deliberately, mind you –"

" – in order to achieve a high effect? –"

"– emphasis on 'high' by the way. –"

"– But what we really wanted to know was if _you_ tri–"

Mrs Weasley's impatient screech of "Move!" was drowned out by Elizabeth's roar of complete laughter.

A minute later, once the laughter had subsided, Elizabeth told them quite teasingly, "I might have had a go in my younger years," before the door was opened and she stepped across the threshold. Fred and George followed directly behind, their faces a mixture of silent awe and cheeky grins. Stepping in behind them were a chuckling Sirius and Professor Lupin, and a disproving looking Mrs Weasley.

She stopped looking so disproving when she saw what Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were doing. "Ah good," she said sounding surprised. "I can see you're still hard at work, unlike some of my children.

"Now that is not fair Mum, indeed it isn't," said George, sounding innocently offended.

"I'll decide what's fair and what's not! I'm your mother!" snapped Mrs Weasley before scanning the room suspiciously. "You don't look like you've done much work from yesterday."

"What do you mean?" Ron sputtered indignantly. "I've got blisters and cuts on my hands here!"

He failed to mention that he'd received those blisters from a rather temperamental book entitled _Burning Snap Plants_, and the cuts from violently turning too many sharp pages.

"Well we'll just have to put some coltsfoot spray on that then, clear it right up."

Ron made a face at Mrs Weasley's apparent lack of worry.

"Though, I can't imagine where you got the blisters from," she now continued, not seeing Ron's suddenly pale face. "Unless there's some undiluted Bubotuber pus in one of the cupboards that you didn't see until it was too late. Oh, and that reminds me. Don't open that writing desk in the corner. I think there might be a boggart in it, but I'm not sure; it was rattling a couple of times. I'll ask Moody to have a quick look tonight after dinner."

"There's a boggart in it," said Elizabeth quietly and with firm conviction, staring at the seemingly innocent writing table.

The only person who did not look confused by that statement was Harry, who was the only one that knew, from previous experience, that Elizabeth was a Slayer, could sense dark creatures, and so, would have no problem pinpointing a boggart.

Elizabeth, finally seeing the odd looks she was receiving from everyone but her brother, had to think fast in order to secure her position. "Um, I've got experience with boggarts," she said rather lamely, then turned to Harry, shrugging slightly, as if to tell him that that was the best she could come up with when put on the spot.

Harry tried desperately not to grin at her nonchalant attitude.

"Well, if you say so," said Mrs Weasley a bit hesitantly, and added, almost reluctantly, "but I'd rather wait for Moody's confirmation if it's all the same to you dear."

"Go for it," Elizabeth responded, not unkindly. "But it doesn't matter anyway; I only came in to get the Babe. We're due for a long chat with the mutts here." She jerked her thumb at Sirius and Professor Lupin, who looked like they didn't know whether to be offended or amused.

As it was, her comment produced various snickers from all the teenagers present, prominent of which were Fred, George, and Ron.

Harry, a bit red-faced, shuffled over to stand beside his sister. "How long is this 'conversation' going to take?" He already had a fair idea what it was going to be about.

"Probably until lunchtime, unless something untoward happens!"

Her ominous statement was not in the least reassuring, and Harry had to stop his mind from imagining all sorts of unpleasant reactions from Sirius and Professor Lupin.

"Alright then. See you at lunch," he told the others, before his arm was being hooked in Elizabeth's and she was marching him out of the room and up the stairs, Professor Lupin and Sirius following.

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Looking back two hours later, Harry had to allow that it wasn't the most pleasant discussion he'd ever had. In fact, it had been the worst, most possibly. Never had he felt such guilt, shame, and anger all rolled into one helpless ball that was Harry Potter's conscience. And Elizabeth certainly hadn't been helping matters with her endless dry comments. But it was Professor Lupin and especially Sirius for whom he had felt the guilt and shame; the anger had been solely directed at Elizabeth.

The conversation had started, inevitably, with Lupin and Sirius asking all the correct questions, getting, in response, the correct – if unexpected and shocking – answers, and then becoming, in Harry's view, justifiably furious. (Or at least, Sirius had become justifiably furious, then justifiably silent). Lupin had seemed unseeing as he stared at Elizabeth, as though he couldn't quite believe what he had just been told, but instinctively knowing it was the truth.

Eventually, Elizabeth had demonstrated a small bit of her power (lifting up Sirius's large four poster bed five meters off of the ground using only the tip of her pinkie finger) until they had been shocked into believing silence, then believing anger, voicing aloud their accusations of unfairness, among which "James should have told us!" being the most prominent.

Elizabeth, getting annoyed with their continual references to the foolishness of James Potter's decisions, had responded irritably with "You weren't the centre of the universe. There were more important things going on then a couple of wayward friends who'd deserted him!"

Harry had seen by the horrified expression on her face that she had meant to take it back as soon as she'd said it, but the damage had been done. There had been a terrible silence. Sirius had stared at her a long while before standing up and walking with precise movements out of the room. Lupin had followed soon after, brow furrowed. And that was when Harry had become angry.

He had known Elizabeth had a bit of a wild streak, and a bit of a temper when provoked. He knew that when she thought she was right, she could become downright nasty at times. Not in any cruel thing she said or did deliberately – because she hardly said or did cruel things – but she had a way of making you feel as if you were the guilty party, as if you were the stupid one, as if you had done wrong, and not her, (no matter if you had or hadn't). In this case, however, Elizabeth had known it was she who had been the stupid one, she who had made the blunder; and because of that Harry's anger with her had not lasted very long, especially when he'd seen how small and shocked she had looked at her own callousness.

He had calmly told her that she was a stupid git, and she had replied with a soft, "I know Harry." Then she had sniffled, and sobbed, and cried, both silently and loudly, while he held her and stroked her soft black hair; for once feeling the comforter instead of the comforted, for once feeling like the adult. And the situation had not seemed to be at all uncomfortable to him. It had seemed . . . right. Perhaps a bit serene, (like the world had gone mental momentarily) but right. And he had finally realised that this was what being a sibling and a brother was all about. Giving and receiving comfort. Knowing when to admonish and when not to. Despite everything that had happened with Sirius and Lupin, he had felt rather proud of himself in that moment, and it had filled him with a feeling of belonging, a sense of duty that he knew he could never abandon now, especially when he'd only just discovered it and its meaning.

After a short while they had drawn back and Elizabeth had wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands, giving him a watery smile. Then a ferocious light had suddenly come into those eyes and she'd marched out of the room. Harry hadn't followed her, instinctively knowing she had perhaps gone to patch things up with Sirius and Professor Lupin. Sure enough all three had come back an hour later, their eyes a little redder, but looking like a heavy burden had been taken off their shoulders.

They had all seated themselves down on the bed next to Harry, and Elizabeth had explained briefly that she and Sirius and Lupin had talked, and they had all decided that they weren't going to tell the Order or anyone else about her unusualness, about her powers. And that was something that they had all mutually agreed on; the main argument being that it would question the trust the Order had placed in Dumbledore, since the old man hadn't told them about it to begin with. Otherwise, it would create dissent and a feeling of betrayal. No, they weren't going to tell. This also meant that they weren't going to say anything about the other two Slayers. Harry had almost blurted "Two?" but Elizabeth had subtlety gestured not to, and then he remembered it wasn't his or her secret to tell.

He'd ask, a bit confusedly, what they were now going to tell the Order members instead, since they would surely be expecting explanations of some sort.

"Don't worry Harry," Elizabeth had said, running a gentle hand through his hair, "we've worked it all out." Which Harry thought was quite an achievement considering the Order meeting was just that night.

Professor Lupin had gone on to add that they'd already contacted Dumbledore and had explained to him Elizabeth's decision, and the headmaster had agreed not to interfere in their telling of the pseudo story to the Order.

"Besides," Sirius had said, "If there are any traitor Death Eater spies that have infiltrated the Order again (he all but spelled out the word SNAPE, much to Lupin's disproval) we can make sure they don't acquire any juicy bits of information. And an actual living, not so mythologised Slayer would be a juicy bit of information."

Harry had actually felt relief at that. Though he hadn't known whether it was because he now knew Elizabeth's secret was truly safe, or, if it was because he had only wanted to keep the secret within the family, so to speak. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Now, as he looked at the three people who more or less made up the only real family he had, (except for Ron and Hermione, whom Elizabeth had given Harry full consent to tell her secret to) Harry thought that life really couldn't get much better. Sirius, Professor Lupin, and Elizabeth had reconciled, and splendidly so. They had even taken to joking with each other again. Harry felt like he could watch them forever and be content.

"What are you looking so happy about?" Elizabeth now asked, observing Harry's expression.

"Just thinking how nice it is to be here with you all," Harry answered truthfully.

Sirius grinned at him.

"Anyway babe, I should probably tell you that we're going to the Ministry today, in about an hour as a matter of fact. Arthur's told me how to get there," said Elizabeth suddenly, shocking him. And apparently shocking Sirius and Professor Lupin as well, if their raised eyebrows were anything to attest by.

"W-why?" Harry stuttered. He didn't know why he, Harry, would have to go to the Ministry of Magic. He knew the ministry hated him, thanks in part to his friends' recent confessions and in part to recent copies of the Daily Prophet. The Ministry thought him a liar. The Ministry thought him crazy. He didn't want to go anywhere near that place.

"Well, I have to register with them because I'm from Australia and I want to move to England. The basic gist is I have to give them my residential address, where I work, my name . . . Not my real name of course," she added after seeing Harry's confused frown. "I'll go under a pseudonym. Elizabeth Evans, instead of Elizabeth Potter. Like I did in school. I'm probably going to have to get a job as well, come to think of it –"

"But then why do _I_ have to go?" Harry interrupted. "Why do I have to –?"

"Because you're not going to be living with the Dursley's anymore, you're going to be living with me. I'm going to have to tell the Ministry that I'm a long lost relative from your mother's side; second Cousin or something. We need to register your name and address too, because you're moving to a different home. Oh, that reminds me, we'll have to go to the Dursley's before going to the Ministry," she continued, pretending not to notice Harry's open mouth. "We have to get them to hand their guardianship of you over to me, thus transferring the blood protection wards . . . etcetera etcetera."

"Oh," was all Harry said.

"I'm coming with you," said Sirius in a voice that expected no argument.

"Si –" Professor Lupin began just as Elizabeth said cheerfully, "Sure!"

There was a bite of irritability in Lupin's sigh as he threw Sirius a look. "I don't think you can go, Sirius. Death Eaters are all over the Ministry. They know your animagus form. Besides, I don't think Dumbledore will allow you."

Sirius didn't say anything to that, but Harry thought he saw a tightening of his jaw.

"Right," said Elizabeth, moving her eyes from Sirius to Professor Lupin and back again without even bothering to look unobtrusive. "I think we should go then, Harry."

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"Here we are," said Harry dully. "Number Four Private Drive. Residents: Dursley V, P, D, and the TV . . ." Harry paused at what he'd just said. "I think I'm spending way to much time around you Ellie, that's something only you would say."

Elizabeth laughed only for three seconds this time instead of her usual three minutes. "What did you just call me?"

Harry looked at her from under his glasses. "Er . . . it just sort of slipped out," he mumbled extremely quickly. "I mean, I don't have to call you that if you don't want –"

"Are you kidding? That's a cool nickname! You know, surprisingly, no one's ever called me that before. But," she added with a hint of a warning growl, "if you call me Lizzy I will be forced to disembowel you."

"Got it," Harry said, grinning.

"Precisely," she said, then both she and Harry walked up the front porch. Elizabeth pointed out things along the way that she found interesting or unusual, such as Dudley's cigarette packet that he'd tried to hide in one of Aunt Petunia's pot plants. But Elizabeth had spotted that easily with her preternatural eyesight. "Nasty habit to get into. I'll smash you over the head if you so much as touch one of those babe," she'd warned.

Also, she had found a fifty pound note lurking under the doormat. How she'd found it Harry would never understand because the doormat had been covering it; but Elizabeth had explained she had more or less heard it crinkle when they had stepped on the mat. Elizabeth had put the note back after Harry told her it was probably Dudley's secret hiding place that hosted all the money he'd nicked from unsuspecting kids — it being, in Dudley's mind, the least conspicuous and the least likely to be found out.

Harry glanced once more at Elizabeth in an are-you-sure-you-really-want-to-do-this sort of way. Elizabeth only threw him an unimpressed look and Harry rapped smartly on the door with the back of his knuckles. For some inexplicable reason, he was feeling very apprehensive about this meeting. No, that wasn't right. He knew the reason, and that was why he was feeling apprehensive. With everything Elizabeth knew about the Dursley's, Harry was suddenly praying that she wouldn't pick Dudley up and throw him through the window or something.

A short while later the door opened to reveal Aunt Petunia looking rather comical in her very proper day dress complete with pink rubber cleaning gloves, having just come from her after lunch bout of wiping down the cupboards.

Her pale green eyes widened now, looking between Harry and Elizabeth. Two spots of bright colour appeared on her bony cheeks, and her lips pursed, becoming almost non-existent.

"What do you want!" she snapped at Harry, completely ignoring Elizabeth for the time being. Either because Aunt Petunia was scared of her since she thought Elizabeth was a witch, or because she was too annoyed at Harry for having shown up on her doorstep yet again and took to concentrating on him.

"Can we go inside, Aunt Petunia, we won't take long?"

Now Aunt Petunia's mouth really did become nonexistent, and for the first time she cast her attention towards Elizabeth. "And who are you? You better not be –"

"Now really Aunt Petunia," said Elizabeth in a voice that sounded less than impressed. "I didn't think you'd forget your only niece so soon." Then she breezed into the house, Harry following, both of them politely ignoring Aunt Petunia's dropped jaw as they walked passed her.

In the living room Elizabeth sat down on the couch and placed her hands behind her head, looking highly comfortable, though a tad out of place in her black leather jacket and tight jeans. She threw Harry a cheeky wink as he sat down next to her. Aunt Petunia walked in moments later, her wide eyes not leaving Elizabeth's form.

"Have a seat Aunt," Elizabeth offered politely, gesturing to the armchair that sat beside the couch.

Aunt Petunia moved to sit, though tremblingly, on the offered chair, her bony hands clutching her chest and her eyes flickering between the two almost identical siblings that lounged on the sofa.

Harry and Elizabeth couldn't have known what their Aunt was thinking. They could have guessed, but they wouldn't have come very close. Petunia was thinking not about how her supposedly dead niece of fifteen years had come back to life, but about how this young woman so resembled her late sister, except for some of the features, and the hair; the hair was pitch black, like Harry's.

"Well," Petunia said now, giving a great uncaring, snobbish sniff. "If I'd have known you were still alive I'd have sent him to you."

"We all wished," was what Elizabeth said to that, and curtly, momentarily startling Aunt Petunia.

"Well you obviously want something if you and the boy showed up here," said Aunt Petunia, recovering suddenly from Elizabeth's previous glower. "And I'll tell you this now; we're not giving you any money so you can –"

Elizabeth snorted contemptuously. "Oh please, we have more money separately than you'll have in three lifetimes. But I digress. We're only here so you can formally . . . denounce (Elizabeth sneered at the word) Harry, giving him to me under my care. He'll never darken your doorstep again."

For the first time Aunt Petunia looked uncertain. "W-what do you mean? I can't –"

"Don't worry Aunt," Elizabeth interrupted. "I have Albus Dumbledore's permission. You won't get in trouble for this."

Harry was having a difficult time following that last bit of their conversation, but he understood the gist of it.

"W-well I . . . I . . . alright," said their Aunt finally, her shoulders dropping a little. "But if you're lying to me . . ."

Elizabeth held up both hands. "I swear on my mother's grave," she said, and Harry had to fight a sudden horrifying jolt of reality.

Aunt Petunia looked between them again. "What do I have to do?" she asked quietly.

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Harry couldn't believe it! He was finally free of the Dursley's forever. He hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left Number Four Private Drive. And now, even though they stood in front of an old red telephone box which was positioned beside a graffitied building in a shabby looking street with a few tatty offices and a pub, he was still smiling. Elizabeth noticed and smirked, but she didn't comment. Instead she opened the telephone-box door and sidled in, Harry following after her.

It was a tight fit. If he had been with any girl but Elizabeth he would think he'd be slapped for inappropriate invasion of space. His shoulder was jammed painfully against the telephone apparatus and his shirt had ridden up his back a little from moving against the glass of the box.

"Right then," said Elizabeth reaching for the dangling telephone, which looked like someone had tried to rip out of its socket. She held it in front of her face. "Arthur said to press six, two, four, four and two." She dialled the numbers and quirked a brow at Harry. "Let's hope he was right, eh babe."

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Elizabeth's hand, but from everywhere at once, like the electronic voices found in a muggle elevator.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Oh . . . um," said Elizabeth, looking momentarily stumped. Clearly she hadn't expected this questioning. "Um, Elizabeth Evans and Harry Potter on change of residential address? Oh, and in my case change of residential country . . ."

She shrugged silently at Harry.

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach it to the front of your robes."

There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw two somethings slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked one up: it was a square sliver badge with _Elizabeth Evans, International Transfer_ on it. He handed this to Elizabeth while she gave him his, which read _Harry Potter, Residential Change_. They pinned it to the front of their shirts as the female voice spoke again.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and began to sink into the ground. They watched apprehensively as they sank below the pavement. After a minute or so they saw a chink of golden light at their feet, which, as they sank, began getting larger and larger until it hit them square in the face. Their eyes watering, they stepped out of the telephone box just as the woman's voice said, "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

"Pleasant day my butt," Elizabeth grumbled, glaring at the busy tide of Ministry workers that scrambled this way and that in the large hall.

Harry, however, couldn't keep his mouth from dropping open. The place was huge! And looked to be very expensive. Everything seemed to be inlaid with gold or peacock blue colouring. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft _whoosh_. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

"Would you look at that rubbish!" Elizabeth exclaimed pointing to a fountain halfway down the length of the hall. Harry could see what Elizabeth had meant at once. The fountain was comprised of a group of golden statues; a noble-looking wizard, his wand pointing straight in the air, a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf. The last three were all looking adoringly at the witch and wizard, which was what had offended Elizabeth so much. Out of the three, the only creature that really looked itself was the house elf.

They joined the throng of Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases. As they passed the fountain, they could see bronze knuts (only a of couple silver sickles) glittering on the bottom of the pond.

A small smudged sign beside the fountain read:

ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHEREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.

"What say we put in a few Galleons, babe?" said Elizabeth, "If only for the hospital patients. No way would I give it to these scumbuckets." She didn't trouble to keep her voice down and a trio of passing wizards and one witch glared hostilely at her. Elizabeth muttered something very rude that the witch and wizards didn't hear, but which caused Harry's ears to burn. But she did lift a brow at them that suggested she was saying, _Yes, have you had a good look? If so, then get lost!_

They did, and hastily at that, darting away through the large crowd, unconsciously reading something dangerous and predatory in Elizabeth's stance. She smiled smugly.

Then she and Harry each tipped five Galleons into the pond before continuing onwards.

They made their way out of the throng of ministry wizards and witches and to the large golden gates at the end of the hall. Just in front and to the left of the gates sat a badly shaven wizard leaning on a desk and reading the Daily Prophet. A sign on the desk said SECURITY.

Elizabeth walked up to the desk, Harry following in the space beside her. When the security wizard didn't look up from his paper Elizabeth sighed irritably and smacked her palm on the desk, causing the wizard to jump and stare wildly with wide eyes and slackened jaw. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a couple of cracks in the desk where Elizabeth's palm had been.

"Now that we have your exalted attention . . ." drawled Elizabeth dryly, "can we get on with the procedure?" She gestured a thumb at herself and Harry. "We're visitors to the Ministry."

"Right," grunted the wizard, finally closing his jaw. "Step over here."

Elizabeth stepped up first, walking around the desk until she stopped before the wizard. He held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible, like a car aerial. Elizabeth stared at it, then at him, and said, "Hope you're not going to get fresh with that."

Harry silently sniggered as the security wizard's jaw fell for the second time within the space of a minute.

"Well get on with it!" said Elizabeth sharply. Harry might have imagined the wink she tipped in his direction, it was so fast; but he didn't think so.

The security wizard, having got over his shock, passed the rod up and down Elizabeth's front and back.

"Wand," the wizard grunted now, the twin spots of colour on his cheeks disappearing.

Elizabeth placed her wand on a balance scale-like creation, except it had one dish instead of two. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came shooting out of a slip in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.

"Ten and a half inches, dragon-heartstring core, been in use eight years. Is that correct?"

"If you say so," said Elizabeth happily.

The wizard jaw dropped for the third time. Clearly, he didn't know what to make of this girl who didn't follow procedure.

"I get to keep this," was all he said, impaling the paper on a spike at his side. "You get this back." He thrust the wand back in Elizabeth's hand.

Then it was Harry's turn.

He followed through the same process as Elizabeth (except without bothering to make the security wizard uncomfortable) until the parchment came shooting out of the scales again. The wizard read it.

"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years." The security wizard glanced nervously at Elizabeth before saying, "Is that correct?"

Harry nodded and the wizard gave him his wand.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Hang on . . ." said the wizard slowly.

His eyes had darted from the silver badge on Harry's chest to his forehead.

Elizabeth grabbed Harry's arm and said in a sweetly polite voice that fooled no one. "Thank you for all your help." Then she dragged him away from the security wizard (whose jaw had dropped a fourth time) until they stepped back into the stream of ministry witches and wizards that were passing through the gate.

They followed the ministry workers through the gate and into a smaller hall beyond where there rested about twenty lifts behind wrought iron grails. Elizabeth and Harry followed a bunch of arguing wizards into a lift.

"Do you want to go see Arthur Weasley first?" Elizabeth whispered in his ear just as one of the wizard's blurted out with "That's not how it works Bode, I had to have mine removed! Don't know where _you've_ been treated."

Elizabeth continued like she hadn't heard anything. "That way we can get directions, and we won't have to work around the Ministry all by ourselves."

Harry nodded.

The lift ascended, chains rattling. They stopped on several levels, waiting for some wizards to get off and some to get on and take their place. Finally, the cool female voice said, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Offices."

"I think this is us, babe."

Harry and Elizabeth squeezed themselves out of the lift and just in time, as it shut behind them.

At loss with what to do, (because there was nothing there except windows) Elizabeth suggested they follow the path of the hall. They did so and as they turned a corner they found themselves standing before a pair of giant oak doors. They pushed these open and emerged into a cluttered area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Paper aeroplanes zipped from one cubicle to the next. Elizabeth stopped the first witch they came across (a drab looking woman with a roundish figure) and asked where the Improper Use of Magic Office was.

"Just down the hall and take a right turn, deary," said the woman, whom, despite looking so drab seemed to be very kind. They thanked the woman ("No trouble at all dears.") and made their way passed the cubicles.

As they reached one of the end cubicles they spotted Kingsley Shacklebot, Order member, deep in conversation with an elderly wizard. He spotted them, a look of surprise appearing briefly on his face. Harry, who had been about to wave, found his hand grabbed before he had even raised it an inch.

"Say rot or say not," said Elizabeth grimly, and she prodded him onwards.

Harry had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

At last they reached the Improper Use of Magic Office, which was situated in a shabby hallway. They could see Mr Weasley's balding head as they approached his cubicle. Also in the cubicle was a timid looking old wizard with fluffy white hair.

"Hello Arthur," said Elizabeth, and Mr Weasley jumped, whipping around.

He looked delighted to see them. "Oh yes, I was expecting you today Elizabeth, Harry."

"Hello Mr Weasley," said Harry, grinning.

"This is Perkins," Mr Weasley told them, gesturing to the stooped old wizard. The old wizard nodded kindly at them, then bent his head back down and continued on with his note taking. "Now," Mr Weasley continued seriously. "I suppose you don't know where you're going?"

The siblings nodded.

"I can show you the way if you want, but I've really got to finish that report on those regurgitating toilets in Bethnal Green." Mr Weasley paused and seemed to consider. "Tell you what; let's say I just give you directions. You'll want to go to level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation — they handle all international affairs."

"Oh, we know where that is, Arthur!" said Elizabeth half happily, looking half relieved that she didn't have to bother Mr Weasley with his job. "We just passed it in the lifts."

"Right . . ." said Mr Weasley, looking surprised. "That's well done . . . Well when you get there look for Ethel Bigaspoil, she's a fair sort and doesn't ask too many questions." Then he lowered his voice before saying the next bit. "Is your, erm, family name going to be a problem?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Everything's sorted out."

"Wonderful!" said Mr Weasley, and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Just one question," said Elizabeth. Mr Weasley stopped bouncing and gave her his attention. "Um, just how does Ethel Bigaspoil look like? Only, we won't be able to find her otherwise . . ."

"Didn't I tell you?" said Mr Weasley. Before Elizabeth could reply, he spoke again. "Well she's rather like a mop. Even has the long stringy hair. Only don't tell her I said that!" he added hastily.

"Gotcha!" said Elizabeth, grinning. "We'll be going then. Oh, you do know Molly's making meatballs for dinner –"

"Yes, can hardly wait." Then Mr Weasley lowered his voice before saying the next bit. "I've invited Kingsley Shackolebot too, should be quite a full house tonight."

"Snuffles will be pleased," said Elizabeth, and they both shook Mr Weasley's hand, bade him and Perkins goodbye, and made their way back to the lifts.

It was only when they reached the fifth level that they realised they'd forgotten to ask Mr Weasley where the registration offices were. But Elizabeth wasn't that concerned. "I've got a good nose," was all she said.

Though Harry couldn't imagine what a good nose had to do with being able to find the registration offices.

As they walked through the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Harry saw that it was set out in almost exactly the same way as the Auror Office. Except it was much neater, and the people seemed to be a lot more serious. Harry supposed this was because it hosted the International Magic Office of Law.

After sniffing around a couple of cubicles in search of the mop-like Ethel Bigaspoil, they finally found her at the end of the hall, sitting behind a desk and scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Stacks of parchment sat wobblingly on either side of her, and she seemed to be very harried. Even her greying hair, which was more like one of Hogwarts old broomsticks (with bits sticking out) seemed to have changed from Mr Weasley's assured mop-like status.

This time when the siblings stepped up to the desk, Ethel Bigaspoil looked up at once, and even though she seemed extremely busy, she gave them a kind smile.

"I'm Ethel Bigaspoil. Can I help you?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth, looking pleasantly surprised. "I want to move to England permanently."

"Well you certainly don't beat about the bush. Have a seat." She gestured to the thin air.

Harry, who was about to tell her that there were no seats, felt his eyes widen as two squishy armchairs shot through the middle isle and came to a skidded stop behind them. Elizabeth sat down comfortably, looking like this was an ordinary happening, and Harry followed her example, trying not to look as though he'd been surprised.

Ethel Bigaspoil took out a huge thick folder from a draw and plonked it on her desk.

"Now, what country are you transferring from?"

"Australia," Elizabeth answered.

Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand over the thick folder and the pages flipped at a super fast rate until they stopped on a yellow section.

"Ah, yes," she now said. "You would have attended Wackenwand Magical College just northeast of Hobart."

"That's right."

"And you graduated . . .?"

"November eleventh, 1993."

The ministry witch flicked through a couple of pages of the rusty yellow parchment.

"And your name?"

"Elizabeth Evans."

Ethel Bigaspoil ran her finger down the page, as though looking through a list.

"Ah, here you are!" she exclaimed. "Oh, it says you were born in England."

"That's right; I'm moving back to live with my remaining family."

"And you are currently living at 103 Ocean Crest View, just to the south of the Wizarding Sea Village of Wrigadoogong?"

"Yep!"

"And you wish to move to where . . .?"

"Surrey, Little Whinging."

Ethel Bigaspoil ran her wand over, what Harry assumed, was Elizabeth's name on the parchment.

"There, that should alert the Australian Ministry for Magic that you've changed countries. They will erase your name from their registration list. Nevertheless we will still have to send an owl . . ." She gestured with her wand, performing a come hither motion. Immediately, a paper aeroplane zoomed towards her. She scribbled something on it, and it whooshed away. "It'll take the message to the owlery. Now," Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand again and the huge folder snapped shut. Another flick and it soared into the draw by her side. One more flick and a different folder came flying out of the draw to land with a dull _bang_ on her desk.

"Surrey, Little Whinging, you said?"

"That's right."

Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand yet again and the pages rustled until they flopped open to another yellow section.

"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "Well that's a coincidence."

"What's a coincidence?" said Elizabeth.

"Well it's just that . . . you'll be living near Harry Potter. He's the only wizard that's currently residing in that area." She chuckled. "Imagine that?" Then her eyes passed from Elizabeth to Harry. They paused. They flicked from Harry's badge to his forehead. Her laughter died out. "Oh!"

"Harry's the family I was talking about," said Elizabeth, a hint of warning in her voice. "He's my second cousin! And he'll be moving in with me as soon as we find the registration offices. We have permission from his current guardians . . ."

Ethel Bigaspoil shook her head, seeming as if she just came out of a trance. "Registration Offices, you said? Well that won't be necessary. We can do everything here if you like!"

Elizabeth perked up. "Really? That'll save us some time."

"Yes, yes, um . . ." she said, her eyes not leaving Harry. "I'd just like to say that I don't believe any of that Daily Prophet rubbish!" Then she glanced hastily around, as if she thought someone might have been listening in with a pair of Extendable Ears.

Harry and Elizabeth's mouths dropped half-open at that random confession.

"Er, thanks," said Harry.

Ethel Bigaspoil looked rather pleased. "Not at all, not at all. I'll just cross your name off the list." She flicked her wand. "And add it to your cousin's . . . oh dear, I seem to have misplaced your new address?"

Harry half expected Elizabeth to say "That's because I never gave it to you," in her dry tone, but she all she did was nod.

"Number 17, Magnolia Crescent."

Harry whipped his head so fast he heard a crack in his neck. "Magnolia Crescent?" He knew he would still be living in Little Whinging, but he'd had no idea that he'd be moving just a couple of streets away from the Dursley's, and so close to Mrs Figg.

Elizabeth shrugged and grinned at him.

Harry reminded himself to ask her why she kept dropping unexpected things into his lap and in unexpected situations — she only does it to shock me, thought Harry.

"There you are," said Ethel Bigaspoil now after putting back the folder and crossing her hands before her on the desk. "All finished. Have a nice day!"

"Thanks for your time," said Elizabeth, and both she and Harry stood up, the chairs immediately shooting down the middle isle until they came to rest against the wall opposite.

"Listen, Miss Evans," whispered Ethel Bigaspoil just as Harry and Elizabeth had turned to go. They turned back. "I won't inform anyone that you've been here if you don't wish me to. I know Mr Potter is in a . . . erm . . . rather delicate position at this time, and I know some people within the Ministry, some of whom are . . . let's just say their rather high up in the spectrum, probably wouldn't be too pleased to find he's switched residences."

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes sparkling with genuine gratitude. "Thank you very much."

"Yeah, thanks," said Harry, meaning it.

As they bid goodbye to the kindly ministry witch and made their way out of Level Five and down the lift, all Harry could think was that Mr Weasley's deduction of Ethel Bigaspoil's character was spot on and that if everyone who worked in the Ministry acted that way then there'd not be half as many problems and not half as many incompetent people. And there definitely wouldn't be any Cornelius Fudge's.

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A/N: I don't have anything against the name Lizzy

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Review Please.


	12. Surprises

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: This story is finally going to be progressing at a faster rate. Also, I'm not going to be writing, word for word, about situations that everyone already knows happens in the books. I will probably mention them, and in some cases change them a little, but I'm going to rely on your knowledge of the books, and your imagination, to know what goes on. In short, I'll probably be skipping over a fair amount of the fifth book because nothing would have changed since Elizabeth is not _really_ going to Hogwarts and you know what happens anyway.

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**Chapter 12: Surprises.**

Harry and Ron slumped down the stairs one morning, tired out of their minds; Hermione had kept them up studying late for that one ingredient that still continued to elude them. They were about to head to the kitchen in hopes to wangle out a late breakfast from Mrs Weasley when some commotion caught their attention at the end of the corridor.

Professor Lupin, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred and George where all gathered in front of Mrs Black's portrait, looking curiously at it. Deciding it would be a good idea to investigate, Harry and Ron walked towards them, noting that Professor Lupin appeared to be explaining something to the others. But the strange thing was that he wasn't troubling to keep his voice down, he was speaking quite ordinarily. The other strange thing was that not a peep sounded from Mrs Black. In fact, the whole scene didn't seem quite right to Harry and Ron at all. It was almost like something was missing.

". . . of course she's up in the attic now," Professor Lupin was saying. "But she put up quite a fuss, as you can imagine, screeching the whole time. I'm surprised it didn't wake you up."

"Oh we were up rather late last night Professor: studying," said Hermione promptly when Lupin looked at her oddly. "I expect we were too tired to be woken up."

Harry and Ron, having finally reached the end of the corridor, looked on in surprise as they discovered what the others had been talking about.

Mrs Black's portrait was gone.

Left in its place were the black curtains that used to hang across it, now opened to reveal (instead of a painting) a gigantic, jagged, gaping hole, as though someone had ripped the portrait out of its residence, bypassing the permanent sticking charm, and taking bits of wall with it. Beyond the hole were crisscrossing wooden rafters and plenty of cobwebs; the wall's interior.

"What the bloody . . ." said Ron, gaping.

"Hello there," greeted Professor Lupin. "I was just explaining to the others. As you can see, Sirius's mother is no longer with us."

"Way to put it, Professor," sniggered Fred.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"You should ask your sister, Harry," Lupin replied, smiling. "She'll tell you that she's had quite enough of Mrs Black. You'll find her in the kitchen arguing with Sirius."

Harry started. "What d'you mean arguing?" he asked quickly. "What about?"

"A difference of opinion," Lupin grimaced. "Nothing to be alarmed about. It's the same subject they've been debating for the last couple of days."

Harry, who had never heard of this, was quite stunned, and suddenly became very unhappy that two of the most important adults in his life were behaving that way towards each other.

"Don't worry Harry," said Lupin, obviously interpreting Harry's expression. "They're both opinionated and very passionate people, both too much alike. Their wills are bound to clash sometimes. It happened with your father and Sirius. It doesn't mean they dislike each other. In fact I think Sirius might even enjoy it. Sometimes I feel he might even be provoking her on purpose. Brings back fond memories."

"Right," said Harry, letting Professor Lupin reminisce. He knew the same thing happened with Ron and him sometimes. And he had to admit he felt better knowing that Sirius might be doing it as a kind of joke.

Ron leaned to whisper, probably thinking to reassure him, "Fred and George argue with Mum all the time, mate. I wouldn't worry about it."

Harry didn't bother pointing out that that was an entirely different circumstance and that Fred and George had grown up under Mrs Weasley's care. They were not yet fully adult, so they, as her children, had a right to be a little rebellious. Elizabeth did not share such a relationship with Sirius yet, even though he was her Godfather. Harry wasn't sure that she ever would. She was a grown witch after all; she didn't need a father figure anymore.

They all shuffled along to the dining room. Professor Lupin was the only one in the group who probably knew what had _really_ happened with Mrs Black's portrait, but it didn't take much for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to guess the reason as well (Harry having told his two best friends all about Elizabeth and his family circumstance about a week ago).

They opened the kitchen door to find Mrs Weasley standing before Elizabeth, who was sitting opposite Sirius. He was absently stoking Muck's tiny belly as she lay curled up asleep in his lap, her legs lifted straight in the air and her snout emitting soft purring snores. Sirius was intently watching the two women in front of him.

"But Elizabeth dear," Mrs Weasley was saying in a forced sort of kindness. The same tone she had taken to using when she and Sirius disagreed on something. "I know you don't really mean to do that!"

"And how would you know that, Molly?" Elizabeth said tensely, not breaking eye contact with Mrs Weasley.

"W-well I suppose don't, I'm only concerned for Harry's sake. I agree with Sirius, you really shouldn't take him away from here —"

"So what your both saying is I should let him die then," Elizabeth interrupted calmly, looking between Sirius and Mrs Weasley.

Sirius frowned.

"W-what? No!" Mrs Weasley stuttered looking both confused and horrified. "What do you mean 'die'? Whatever gave you the idea —?"

"I mean unless you want Voldemort to find him, (Mrs Weasley winced horribly at the word 'Voldemort') he needs to live in a place that he can recognise as home. He needs to spend at least some time there for the wards to work. I doubt he considers Grimmauld Place his home!"

Sirius stopped scratching Muck's stomach.

Mrs Weasley gaped at Elizabeth, apparently at loss for words. Then she drew her self up. "But you can't know that!" she said evenly. "Harry has loved living here with all his of friends. I've seen how happy he's become, so, for all purposes, he _can_ call this is home. Besides, Professor Dumbledore's already told us that in addition to having an actual home, he also belongs with family —"

Mrs Weasley stopped suddenly, obviously realising, by Elizabeth's thundercloud expression, that she'd said the wrong thing.

Beside him, Harry heard Professor Lupin sigh heavily.

"And what am I if not Harry's family?" Elizabeth said softly, a hurt look briefly appearing in her eyes. "I can't believe you said that."

Mrs Weasley's bottom lip trembled, but she continued on. "Well you were never around. Where were you when Harry needed you? You left him with those muggles who don't appreciate him for what he is!"

This was the first time Harry had ever heard Mrs Weasley speak ill of the Dursley's, and it made him think that she must be really riled up.

"Molly," said Professor Lupin, moving passed Harry and into the room.

Neither she nor Elizabeth appeared to have heard him.

Elizabeth stood up quickly. "I had things to do. I had a life to complete. It was too early to show myself. Harry wouldn't have understood!"

"I think Harry was begging for a family!" Mrs Weasley wasn't letting up. "And you never bothered to show! And now all of a sudden here you are butting into his life, expecting other people who've cared for him all this time to just let him go and forget about him!"

"Mrs Weasley . . ." Harry began.

"I never said that! All I said is he needs to spend some time in our house with me so that Dumbledore's blood wards can activate. It doesn't have to be right now. Next summer perhaps. And 'Never bothered to show?' Believe me, I wanted to show myself so much it was almost a physical ache. That boy upstairs is my entire universe, Molly. You have no idea . . ." Elizabeth was crying now. "You have no idea how much I love him. You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from writing an owl, or getting on a broom. The first time I learned to apparate I had to ask someone to stay with me to stop me from going to England. That's how much I wanted him to be with me. But I wasn't allowed! I wasn't allowed!" Elizabeth started sobbing into her hands.

Sirius, Professor Lupin, and especially Mrs Weasley, all looked thunderstruck.

"Oh!" said Mrs Weasley shrilly. "Oh you poor little dear!" She moved briskly toward Elizabeth and drew her into her arms, where she continued to cry in small muffled sobs. Mrs Weasley had that maternal look on her face. As if she just realised Elizabeth wasn't much more than a child herself, and that she hadn't had a mother to look after her either for all these years.

"You know, you're not that much younger than my Charlie," she said in a trembling voice, stroking Elizabeth's long black hair. "Let's make a nice cup of tea."

Elizabeth drew away, nodded, and wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. Then Mrs Weasley drew a protective arm around her shoulders and led her gently out of the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them.

"Blimey," breathed Ron when that was over. "You can't go a day in this house without something happening."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, deliberately ignoring Hermione's skirting gazes and his Godfather's probing ones. He was too busy thinking about what he'd just witnessed. He'd known what Elizabeth had meant when she'd said she 'hadn't been allowed' to contact him. But up until that point, Harry hadn't known how passionately Elizabeth felt for him. He had known she loved him, of course. She said it often, with boisterous and at times embarrassing vigour. But he hadn't known she'd had to mentally stop herself from jumping on a broom. It made him go rather pink about the ears, but he also felt wonderfully pleased at the same time. He had never had anyone feel for him in this way. He had never been so close to anyone like this before, except Ron and Hermione, but he didn't usually show physical affection for Ron and Hermione like he did with Elizabeth. It was confusing, and Harry had to stop himself from blinking. He had now entered an entirely new relationship with a completely unconventional person, and it took him up until now to realise it.

_Have I always been this thick?_ — was Harry's thought before he followed the others into the silent kitchen.

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Later that night the teenagers all found themselves either on the floor or on the beds in Harry and Ron's room, rifling through more of Sirius' father's Dark Arts books collection (and still finding nothing).

"That's it!" Hermione snapped, slamming shut _Belladonna, Mystique, and Other Deadly Herbs _so hard that particles of dust gushed out. Everyone stared at her. "There's obviously nothing here! We've searched through every single book we could find — I even looked twice — and still nothing! We'll just have to wait until we get to Hogwarts, everyone. It's bound to be in the restricted section!"

Hermione sounded like she couldn't believe any book would let her down.

"That's the best idea you've ever had," said Ron, throwing his book over his shoulder so that it hit the opposite wall and bounced on Harry's bed.

Ginny went to pick it up and stuff it inside an enlarged brown sack, then she, Hermione, and Fred started doing the same to the other scattered books. "Anyway," she said after they had finished, "school starts in five days so we won't have to wait that long. One of them's missing, Fred!"

"What?" said Fred, looking a little too innocent.

"We had twelve books here," said Ginny, pointing to the sack. "Now we have eleven. You helped pick them up. You must have stolen it! You must have given it to George when we weren't looking."

"Did not," George protested.

"I'll help, Ginny," said Hermione. She rifled through the sack, pulling out each book as she went then putting it back in and replacing it with another. "You've got the one with the dark pink embroidered spine and red lettering," she told Fred and George, who were now standing huddled against the wall. "It has one thousand three hundred and twenty four pages. It's called_ Aphrodite's Bundles. _In other words," she continued, straightening up, "you want to use that book to further your own purposes. You are not going to be making Love Lollies or something!" She extended a hand. "Give it here."

"How does she remember stuff like that?" said Ron to Harry, looking in awe at Hermione.

Fred and George scowled, but didn't hand over the book.

"Come on Hermione," moaned George. "It isn't like Sirius is going to miss it!"

"I don't care, it's illegal to make —"

"We're not going to make Love Lollies," Fred interrupted calmly. "Although that's not a bad idea." He tipped Hermione a wink. "We just want to look through some of the plants, might give us ideas for future creations."

Hermione pursed her lips, and sighed crossly. "Fine. But that better be the only reason!"

"We swear!" said Fred and George together.

"And you better not bring it to school!"

They scowled.

A heavy scratching noise, that of claws grinding on wood, was heard outside the door.

"That's Muck's signal!" said Harry restlessly. "Someone's coming up the stairs."

Ginny chucked the sackful of books towards the end cupboard so that Harry had to duck to avoid getting hit and positioned herself next to Hermione, who was sitting on Ron's bed. Fred and George placed themselves in lounging positions alongside it and Harry and Ron scrambled to Harry's bed just as the footsteps stopped in front of the door.

"What are you doing sitting out here?" Elizabeth's voice was heard.

Muck eeped.

"Oh, I see," said Elizabeth and Harry gulped apprehensively. _Could Slayer powers perhaps include talking to Bunyips?_

No, that was stupid.

"What are they doing in there? It almost sounds too quite. Very curious," she added absentmindedly, and the door opened.

Elizabeth stepped through the threshold with a hefted Muck under an arm. Everyone but Fred and George unconsciously straitened up and shifted where they sat. Elizabeth froze at seeing the oddness in their wide-eyed gazes, and then looked at them slantways. Harry tried for a politely innocent expression as her familiar-coloured eyes passed over him, but it mustn't have worked well because they jerked back and stared as though Harry had done something stupid.

"Okay," said Elizabeth slowly, backing quietly out of the room. "You guys are obviously up to something; don't let me begrudge you your secret. Girls, I'll be in the room sleeping so make certain you tiptoe back, and don't forget not to knock my shoes over again. Sleep tight." Then she blew Harry a kiss, placed Muck on the floor, hesitated, picked Muck up again, and closed the door behind her. They could hear her footsteps walking down the corridor, a door opening and closing, then silence.

"Why didn't she tell us off if she knew we were up to something? Why didn't she try to find anything out?" asked Ron in surprise, looking backwards at Harry, as though he thought Elizabeth's weirdness might run in the family.

"She's cool like that," was all Harry said, despite the fact that he didn't know why she did it either.

_Could she know?_

Harry mentally shook his head — _impossible_!

"Well I don't care why, I'm just glad she didn't!" said George.

"But that was pretty decent of her. Not to ask, I mean," said Fred. "Mum would have been yelling her lungs out until she discovered the reason why we were acting so suspicious. Speaking of . . ."

"You idiots could have tried to act more like you weren't up to something!"

"I did try, George!" exclaimed Ginny in what sounded like frustration. "I can lie to Mum no problem! But Elizabeth," she shivered. "It's like she can sniff out my feelings or something."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione determinedly avoided looking at each other.

"She's got good instincts," Harry told them. "She can tell when people are lying to her."

Harry didn't bother to mention that Elizabeth knew a little bit of Legilemency as well, and that might have been the reason why Ginny felt so uncomfortable. With that thought, Harry felt guilty. He couldn't remember the last time he'd practised his mediation, and, as a result, he'd been frequently having those dreams in which he walked through a shadowed corridor, at the end of which was a locked door that he could never get to open because _some_thing (usually Ron or Muck, or even Hedwig) woke him up before he could reach it. Guiltily, Harry admitted to himself that perhaps that was why he hadn't meditated — he wanted to find out the secret behind the locked door.

" . . . over the holidays. Right, Harry?"

"Sorry?"

Hermione looked like she restrained from tutting. "I said, wouldn't it be good if we found the ingredient before the end of this year, that way we can brew the potion next summer over the holidays. Then, by the end of the holidays, we'll have gotten some good practise in."

"How long does it take to brew the potion?" asked Ron.

Hermione frowned, but answered. "A couple of weeks. It needs to be stirred every two and a half hours precisely on the dot, so we'll have to take turns alternating between watches."

"What's the potion for anyway, Hermione?" Harry asked, confused why he hadn't thought to ask before.

Hermione looked even more annoyed as she glanced between Harry and Ron. "Haven't you read the book?" At seeing Harry and Ron's avoidance of her sharp gaze, and their increasingly red necks, Hermione humped. "Even Fred and George have read it!"

"Hey!" said George.

Hermione ignored him. "It explains everything. Except for _Brillogsapor Clanniria_. No doubt the Australian Ministry, or wherever Elizabeth got if from, didn't want to risk the book falling into illegal hands —" she gave everyone a pointed stare "— so they left that bit of information out, forcing the receivee — that would be us — to spend our time and efforts looking for it when we should be studying for our owls!"

She sat up; breathing rather heavily, then expelled a defeated breath and slumped back against the wall. "But anyway, the potion enables the drinker to enter into a sort of mediatory state, in which we'll be able to sense, and presume to judge, what animal our personalties are best suited for. At which point it'll take us a long period of time to transform into said animals."

As usual Hermione sounded like she'd swallowed the textbook.

"Though, the length of time it'll take to transform will be different for each of us," she admitted. "It all depends on our strength of will, strength of character, the animal we will transform into, and whether or not we have the gumption to actually go through with it, and if we do go through with it, whether or not we'll end up has a half toad. Or as a half anything, really . . ." She paused and bit her lip. "At which point we will not be able to revert back to our humanoid form, but remain permanently in our mutated, half animal one. Thus the illegality of the situation, and the need for a ministry official to oversee the process."

She finished with a short expulsion of air, ignoring, or pretending to ignore, the green pallor on everyone's faces.

Ron gaped. "You mean," he said finally, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. "It'll take us up to a _year_ to find the ingredient? I can't wait that long!"

Hermione stared at Ron.

Fred, George, and Ginny snickered.

"Yes. Ronald," she finally said, tightly. "It might even take longer. Why do you think it took the Marauders three years?"

Ron suddenly sounded like something particularly itchy had become stuck down his throat.

"Let's just hope it'll take the year," said Harry, thumping Ron's back with the palm of his hand. "Otherwise, I don't think Ron can cope with the stress."

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Harry was making his way to breakfast a couple of days later when the swish of a brush whirling through water caught his attention as he passed Sirius' room. Harry knew that sound, he'd heard it often in the passed month, and his stomach gave a pleasant tumble at hearing it again now. The door was ajar and Harry stepped closer, peering in through the slit. He could just make out Sirius and Buckbeak. Buckbeak, with wings spread looking majestic was standing next to Sirius, who had placed a hand on the sharp beak in front of him.

Elizabeth's voice came, "Raise you're a head bit. Tilt it slightly to the left."

Sirius did so.

"No sorry, my left."

Sirius' lip twitched, but he obliged.

"Perfect."

"Why can't you just do it magically?" asked Sirius in his deep voice, lifting a brow.

"Don't move!" Elizabeth squealed.

Sirius hastily lowered the brow.

"Now you just look demented," Elizabeth humped. "I'm almost finished you know, the least you can do is —"

"So why can't you just do it magically?" Sirius said again, this time without moving his lips. "It'll save time."

"Magically?" questioned Elizabeth. Harry could hear the offended tone in her voice. "Doing it by magic is stupid! There's no talent involved. You just wave your wand and _poof_!"

"But it isn't even going to move, what's the point of painting anything then?"

"Wizarding folk just don't understand the beauty of fine art. You're just like Harry. He was fidgeting the whole time I was painting him. By the way babe, you don't have to loiter outside the door."

Harry, grinning sheepishly, stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

His emerald eyes observed Elizabeth in her overalls, exactly as she had been a few days before, standing behind a stand with a canvas in front of her. Various brushes, wood pallets, and little bottled paints that she'd obviously purchased from a muggle store lay scattered on Sirius' bed. She'd spread out the latest edition of the Daily prophet under them to keep the bed from getting dirty. When Harry had questioned, a few days before, why she did this when she could just scourgify the stains later, she had given him a cheeky look and said, "Don't want to waste good quality trash." He and Ron had almost choked with appreciative laughter until Hermione had each given them a glass of water.

"All right Harry?" Sirius greeted, grinning.

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling back.

"See what she's made me do?" his Godfather continued with a false mournful tone, subtly shaking his head. "But I can't complain, Remus had to sit through his a couple of days before. She made him stand in front of a Boggart. Claimed it was for effect. Then she insisted she paint Remus in his wolf form."

"Shut up you," said Elizabeth, flapping a spare hand. The other held a brush and painted the canvas with unnatural speed.

"And that's another thing," Sirius continued, pausing to stare at her. "Why do I need to stand still for so long when you've got that whole supernatural speed going for you?"

"You've only been posing for five minutes, Sirius," said Elizabeth dully, not looking up from the canvas. "If Buckbeak can do it, you can."

Sirius threw Harry a wink.

"There. Done," said Elizabeth, the blur that used to be her arm came to a halt. She wiped some excess paint off the side of the canvas, and turned it around so that Harry and Sirius could view it.

Like all paintings of Elizabeth's this one was superb and glossy, reflecting the yellow lamplight in the corner of the room. She had painted Sirius and Buckbeak while they'd posed in Sirius' bedroom but the setting that showed on the canvas was that of a — what Harry could only assume — mountain landscape. Further in the background the wind played with long strains of grass settled in green plains as far as the eye could see. Unnaturally large stars twinkled in the night sky. Sirius' eyes seemed as if they reflected the stars themselves. He looked mournful.

And, Harry realised with a happy jolt, he also looked innocent. He looked innocent and free and as though he had been betrayed by the cruel world.

_CRUNCH!_

Everyone jumped at the loud noise that broke the stillness.

Buckbeak, without any one of them noticing, had earlier trotted off to the corner where Sirius had placed some dead rats. He was munching away happily.

"Wow," croaked Sirius, raking a hand through his long hair. He walked up to the painting and extended a hand as if to touch it, but he didn't. He let it hover instead, his long fingers tracing the face in the portrait. A hazy, faraway look appeared in his eyes, but then he shook his head, coming out of the stupor. He glanced back at Harry, tossing back his hair when it fell in his eyes. "What do you think?"

"You look innocent," Harry told him, and was pleased when Sirius bestowed him with a tired smile.

Elizabeth was watching them with a small tilt in the corner of her mouth.

Sirius cleared his throat, looking back at Elizabeth, who snapped her eyes to meet his in the last second. "Thank you."

"Well we're not finished yet," she said briskly, taking Sirius' portrait off the stand and placing a fresh canvas in its place. "I still have to paint you as Padfoot."

Sirius looked alarmed. "After breakfast perhaps?" he suggested, levitating Elizabeth's paintbrushes with his wand just as she was about to go for them. "I need feeding, as Molly so often orders. And so does Harry."

That settled it. As soon as he mentioned Harry Elizabeth became all concern. She whipped around and pierced her brother with an angry green glare. Harry shrank back against the wall. "Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?"

"Er," said Harry, throwing Sirius a nasty look.

"'Er' is absolutely right! Now get your little hiney down to the kitchen. Move it!"

Harry glared at both Elizabeth and Sirius (who was half doubled-up in bark-like laughter) but he prodded himself out the door nonetheless.

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On the afternoon on the day before their impending departure to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Harry, Ron, and Hermione had decided to risk getting caught by spending time in the extensive Black Library. Well, it wasn't that extensive. It was only a moderately sized study that used to belong to Sirius' father. But Sirius never went in there anymore, if he did at all, so they didn't think they _would_ get caught. They had already looked through all the books twice, so, with Hermione's Okay, they weren't going to look through them again. But they had found that no one would disturb them in here, and so they were free to talk about anything in particular.

Right now the trio were sitting around Mr Black's old mahogany wood desk (their feet squashed together underneath), and talking about where and how Harry had cut himself that morning.

"It was a bit of wood sticking out of the banister. I think Kreacher might have messed with it a bit," Harry answered to Hermione's inquiry.

"He has been acting more of a git than usual, especially since Elizabeth tore Mrs Black's portrait from the wall and stuffed it under one of those floorboards in the attic," agreed Ron.

"Remember yesterday? He'd put water on the last step and Tonks slipped and hit her head on the banister."

"Yeah," Ron gritted out. "Stupid little bas —"

Hermione was frowning at them.

"Oh come on!" spat Ron, obviously spotting Hermione's expression. "You can't defend him now; look what he did to Harry!"

Ron reached over the desk and yanked Harry's bandaged hand over to Hermione and started waving it under her nose. Hermione slapped it away.

"Honestly," she said in her usual tone. "We don't know if it was Kreacher. This place hasn't been looked after for over ten years, and lots of things have festered. It was probably old wood. "

"What about the water then, Hermione?" said Harry, becoming annoyed. "I don't think that was the house's fault."

Hermione sniffed. "Tonks is naturally clumsy, you both know that."

Ron and Harry glared at her. They both felt indignant that she was still choosing an evil old house elf's side instead of theirs.

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it?" said Hermione hurriedly, avoiding their gazes. "Harry's obviously all right. I expect he went straight to Mrs Weasley and she patched him up. She's got all those household healing spells in that book —"

"Actually," Harry interrupted before Hermione could continue. "Elizabeth helped me."

"Oh."

"I ran into her first as I was coming down the stairs. Turns out she'd sliced herself on the same bit of wood a couple of minutes earlier. Her cut had almost closed —"

"I still can't get over that whole thing," Ron interrupted, shaking his head.

"— but she was still going to bandage it up because she said it would look suspicious if someone saw that it healed straight away."

"How would it look suspicious?" asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Unless someone actually did see that she had a cut before it had a chance to heal. But the fast healing could easily be explained away by magic."

Harry shrugged. "She's used to living in the muggle world where things can't be explained away by magic. Maybe that's why. Maybe she just forgot."

Hermione looked like she didn't really believe that. "More like she wanted to appear normal for once."

"What?" said Harry, not understanding.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, do you think Elizabeth just might have wanted to bandage herself up simply because she felt that's what normal people would do?"

"Er," Harry looked at Ron, who raised his brows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I mean her whole life she's had to live with being different, even compared to other witches and wizards."

"Kinda like Professor Lupin," said Ron, and popped the bit of Droobles strawberry gum that he was chewing.

Hermione turned to him, looking surprised by his insight. "Exactly."

"So you're telling me Elizabeth's walking around with a bandaged up hand because she wants to look like other people?" said Harry incredulously.

"I suppose," Hermione confirmed weakly, blinking at him.

"Right," said Harry, still not understanding. "But it doesn't matter anyway because she told me it was convenient that I'd cut myself almost the same time she had."

"Why?" his friends chorused together. Ron in hopes to hear some exciting Slayer secret, and Hermione in curious suspicion.

"She said that way we can mix our blood together, and —"

"What!" said Ron in alarm.

"Oh I see," said Hermione, a dawning expression enveloping her face. Then she tutted. "Well really."

Ron threw her a patented bored look. "What do you know again that I don't?" he said.

"Well it's just . . . I think Elizabeth might have been trying to invoke some sort of bond between the two of them. Am I right Harry?"

Harry had long ago stopped trying to discover the source of Hermione's impossibly large brain, and how well it stored information. Instead he nodded, grinning. "She said if performed correctly, it would help her find me, and vice versa. And it's true, I feel a sort of glow inside my chest now. I feel closer to her, er, magically speaking."

"You mean you already did it?" asked Ron, jaw dropping.

"Yes," said Harry.

Hermione and Ron stared at him with wide eyes.

"You do know that it's irreversible?" Hermione questioned.

"Who cares!" said Ron at once. "It's bloody awesome, that's what it is!"

"And that's not the best part," Harry continued, grinning at Ron, then Hermione, who was still looking at him with sceptical eyes. "Elizabeth said I could perform the charm with a few other people." He looked pointedly between the two of them.

"You mean . . . No way!" said Ron, but he was grinning nonetheless. "What do I have to do, then?"

"Wait!" said Hermione sharply, lifting her hand so they were faced the palm. "Wait, wait, wait!" She breathed out. "Harry, this is an extremely difficult charm . . . And there's no guarantee's that it'll work. In fact, I'm surprised it even worked for you and Elizabeth. But then, I suppose she is a Slayer, and you are her brother so you already share the same blood . . ."

"It _will_ work," said Harry determinedly. He knew it would work.

Hermione looked sceptical. "I don't know Harry . . ."

"Look, Elizabeth explained it all, Hermione. She said it'll definitely work if we truly think of each other as family. That's the key, apparently. She said most people haven't worked that out yet, which is why the charm fails for them. I'm going to ask Sirius if he'd like . . . and maybe Professor Lupin as well."

"I'm game," said Ron. "You two are practically Weasley's anyway." Then he and Harry both stared at their other best friend, who took a long look at their pleading eyes, before: "Oh, all right then. I suppose it can't hurt to try. And if Elizabeth said it . . ."

"Excellent!" said Ron, punching the air.

"Thanks Hermione," grinned Harry. "Like Ron said, I already think of you guys as family. Now," he shrugged shyly, "it'll be true."

"Harry!" Hermione shrilled suddenly, her eyes turning alarmingly glassy. "What a lovely thing to say." Then she burst into noisy tears.

Harry opened his mouth and exchanged a glance with Ron that seemed to say, "Girls are mental."

"But I wonder," Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes, "if you really want to do this. I mean, it is irreversible . . . and I'm not trying to back out!" she said hurriedly after seeing her best friends' irritated looks. "I'm just asking whether you thought this through properly. If you really want to do it, before —"

"Definitely," Ron said with no hesitation.

Hermione and Harry stared at him.

"Well," he grumbled, his ears turning red. "S'not like I don't . . . _care_ . . . for you lot."

"All I'm saying," Hermione continued, sparing Ron from further embarrassment "is maybe we should sleep on it for a few days, and wait until we've properly researched it in the library."

"But Elizabeth —" Harry began.

"I'm not saying she hasn't gotten it right," Hermione interjected, not looking at him. "But for my own peace of mind Harry?"

Harry looked at her brown eyes, and nodded. "Okay. Ron?"

"As long as we get to do it, I can wait all bloody year!"

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A/N: Review Please.

And have a look at my new story. I just posted it the other day. You can find it on my Author page.


	13. Hogwarts

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: I have discovered that some people can be really nasty. I have also discovered that some people take things way, way to personally.

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**Chapter Thirteen: Hogwarts**

"Ouch!" said Harry.

Even amidst the burning pain he was currently feeling he made sure to keep his voice down, not wanting to wake anyone up as it was still very early.

Gingerly shaking out his burning hand, he placed the boiling pot of tea on the table, rushed to the kitchen sink, turned the cold water on full blast, and stuck the offended hand under the faucet. His sigh of relief quickly turned into a hiss of pain as a splash of cold water spattered wildly, seeping into the cut on his other hand — the one that held the tap — which hadn't completely healed yet from Kreacher's tampering with the staircase banister yesterday morning.

It had been stupid of him to take the bandage off, but he had reasoned that the cut hadn't been that serious. Also, he had thought — again stupidly, he now realised — that by mixing his blood with Elizabeth's it might've given him the edge he needed to heal faster. It hadn't, and now Harry was left without a bandage and a marginally deep cut that stung whenever it made contact with the air, which was always.

He turned off the tap and wiped his now healed, though wet hand on his jeans, and then rummaged through the kitchen cupboards for a mug.

He was just about to try to stretch up to the cupboards that he couldn't actually reach when a familiar deep voice, croaky from sleep, sounded behind him.

"Need help with that?"

Harry whirled and almost overbalanced. His godfather stood in the doorway, arms braced over his chest. He looked, Harry thought — staring at his long hair, which was almost as messy as his own — like someone who had not pursued any sleep at all. "Sirius! I was just trying . . ."

"To reach a cup?" his godfather finished, sounding bemused.

"Yeah," Harry frowned. "Why are they placed so high up, anyway? You'd have to stand on a chair to get them."

"Not if you have magic, Harry," Sirius reminded him with a small smile.

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Would you like some help?" said Sirius, taking out his wand.

"Please."

A minute later both he and Sirius sat opposite each other on the table next to the monstrous stone fireplace, a warm mug of tea in hand. It was still a bit hot to drink, (as Harry found after taking a hesitant sip) so he cast around for a subject to talk about. Harry finally settled on one that had come up quite a few times during the course of his holidays. It was both foreboding and wonderful, depending on the outcome.

"Are you taking us to the train station?" he asked his godfather hopefully. Sirius had been trying to get Dumbledore to concede out of his stubborn stance and to allow him to be one of the guards taking Harry to platform nine and three quarters.

Sirius clenched his mug so tightly that his knuckles blanched. "No."

Harry didn't say anything.

Sirius cleared his throat, lifted his searching gaze, and pinned Harry with a dark stare. "According to Dumbledore I'm not needed, Harry. You'll have enough guards. Molly and Tonks are going to be there, as well as a couple of others. You'll be. . . sufficiently protected."

Harry had not really heard anything beyond, _as well as a couple of others_. "You mean Elizabeth isn't going to be one of my guards?"

Sirius, whose gaze had drifted back to linger on something interesting in his tea, rolled back up to Harry's. "No. I know she seems like the best choice, but she'll be doing something else . . ." he trailed off.

"Something for the Order?" said Harry at once. He hadn't realised he had leant forward until a splash of burning liquid seeped through his shirt.

"Yes," Sirius confirmed half-heartedly.

Harry discretely held his wet shirt away from his body.

"So, so what is she going to do?" he asked, trying to make it sound as though he wasn't that interested.

Sirius smiled and tossed back a long lock of hair that had fallen down the side of his face. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry had the impression Sirius' eyes were flicking over his own. "All I can tell you is that it's something pretty big."

The way Sirius said _big_ made Harry think that the word should be capitalised. "Oh." He tried not to let his disappointment show. "So, when is she going to be leaving?"

Sirius rubbed his chin, which he mustn't have shaved in a week, and sighed hoarsely. "A few hours at most. She'll leave about the same time you lot will."

"Then why can't —"

"Because she'll be apparating!" his godfather said sharply.

Harry closed his mouth.

Sirius sighed, raked a hand through his long hair, and rubbed the back of his neck—hard. "I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just sort of . . . disappointed with my life at the moment."

"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts," Harry told him bluntly. "And this is the first time I've ever felt this way. I want to stay here at Grimmauld place with my family."

Sirius looked at him with something akin to awe. Then he shook his head, picked up his mug, drained it in a single swallow, and cleared his throat. "Well, Elizabeth won't be living here while you're at school. She has her own house, as you know —"

"I wasn't just talking about Elizabeth, Sirius," Harry interrupted, and both he and Sirius blinked. "I-I mean," he continued, looking down at his still full mug, "you're my family too."

There was silence from the opposite side of the table for the longest of times. When he couldn't stand it any more Harry glanced up, fully expecting Sirius to be embarrassed, but he wasn't, he was smiling, albeit tiredly, but still smiling.

Sirius must have caught Harry's amazement because he explained: "You and Elizabeth are the only relatives I have left, Harry. At least the only ones I want around me. It stands to reason that I think of you as family also. There's no need to be . . ." Sirius expelled a breath and once more raked his hair. "Look, I know that since before these holidays we haven't really, I mean, we haven't really had much of a relationship — much of any relationship for that matter. Except in correspondence. We had only ever seen each other for more than a couple times . . . I know that it's awkward for you sometimes . . . It's awkward for me too. I mean if I'd have been there for you from the beginning, maybe, possibly, things would have turned out differently. I might have gained custody of you. You might never have had to live with Lily's family . . ."

Harry nodded, too overwhelmed at experiencing this sentimental side of Sirius to really say anything. And, Harry would never admit it, but he thought his heart was going burst out of his chest, he was that pleased by what he was hearing.

Whereas before Sirius had been addressing the table as he spoke, he looked straight up at Harry now. "I want you to know that if you have any problems don't be afraid to come to me to talk about them." He dropped his gaze back to the table. "I realise that you have Elizabeth now —"

"Sirius—"

"—but, forgive me for saying, she's still just a girl. There are some things a wizard just isn't comfortable talking to girls about, especially if she's his sister."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

Sirius swallowed hard. "Okay."

The kitchen door swung open at that moment, preventing the situation from getting uncomfortable. A bushel of bright red hair entered, followed by a brisk, matronly figure.

Mrs Weasley stopped abruptly at seeing them. "Oh. You're up already, Harry. And Sirius. Good morning to both of you. Had a good sleep? Wonderful!" She scurried into the room, flicking her wand. Pots, pans, and an assortment of other cooking utensils flew out of the cupboards, coming to a _clatter_ next to the stove. "Now then, what'll be? Toast? Cereal? Eggs and bacon? Chocolate chip pancakes?"

As she spoke, she gave a series of flicks and the cooking ingredients zipped out of the draws and cupboards coming to whirl above their heads near the ceiling before plummeting down next to the pots. "On second thought you tell me what you want first, Harry dear, that way I can make it while you pack your stuff upstairs. And wake Ron up while you're at it. And the girls as well if you don't mind."

"Erm, alright," said Harry, standing up. "What about Fred and George?"

"What?" Mrs Weasley turned from enchanting a wooden spoon to beat a thick yellow mixture inside a large silver bowl. "Oh yes, them too. Only, watch out for any booby traps they might have placed over their door."

Harry froze upon hearing that. Mrs Weasley had gone back to enchanting the kitchenware and appeared not to have seen. She also appeared as though she wouldn't hear if Harry told her what he wanted to eat. So, not wanting to bother her Harry threw Sirius a smile, (he grinned back) and made his way out of the room.

He went first to wake Fred and George, figuring that it was better that he get it over with. There weren't any booby traps on the door, to Harry's relief, but George did throw a dirty sock at him — which Harry dodged — when he tried to shake him awake.

Next he went down to the second floor where the girls' room was located. Harry had never been to Hermione, Ginny, and Elizabeth's room. Mostly because there hadn't been a need to. But he'd been expecting pink flowery wallpaper and a great fluffy carpet with teddy bears in the corner. That wasn't the case. When Harry stepped into the room he was faced with three black four-posters placed strategically against the far wall, rather like the Hogwarts dormitories. The floor was made out of stone and the bed frames all had snakeheads attached at the top, in all four corners.

He was just about to shout a wake up call to the three lumps he could see under the bedcovers when something small, black and furry came shooting at him. His seeker skills allowed him to catch it before it collided with his chest. Immediately, little arms wrapped as far as they could around his neck.

"Hello Runamuck," Harry said fondly, running a hand through the thick fur.

"Eep."

"Yes, that's right. We get to wake them up."

Muck eeped again just as a flash of ginger shot through Harry's spread legs and out the open door.

"There goes Crookshanks." He was surprised when, as he said that, Muck began struggling in his arms. "What? d'you want down?"

Muck nodded.

"Alright then." He set her down gently and she too shot out the door. "What's got into them?"

He was just about to wake Hermione up, because she was the first one Harry had spotted, her hair so bushy that it could be seen sticking out from under the bedcovers, when a pillow collided with his face and an irritated voice shouted: "Would you shut up, babe? Some of us have highly sensitive ears and haven't slept all night thanks to long-bearded old men who deem fit to send us on unconstructive missions! Thank you!"

By the time Harry removed the pillow from his face Elizabeth, who had sat up to tell him off, flopped back down and buried under the covers again. He was bursting with curiosity about "the unconstructive mission" Dumbledore had sent her on, but he knew he would never find out.

As it was, her shouting had woken Hermione and Ginny, who must have thought it appropriate to chuck pillows at him as well, which, from reflex and previous experience, he knew to duck under. A few sleepy mumbles got thrown at him and until Ginny muttered "Alright, we're awake," did Harry leave them.

Harry then walked to the room down the corridor, which was his own and Ron's. He wasn't worried about any pillows or dirty socks flying at him this time, because he always had to be the one to wake Ron up while at Hogwarts.

It only took a few seconds until Ron gave a grunting snore, turned over, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "Alright Harry?" he mumbled, yawning again. "Had a good dream," he continued, throwing his legs over the side of his bed. "Chudley Cannons won the World Cup."

"That's great Ron," Harry said, while privately thinking Ron must still be half asleep.

"Yeah. Four hundred and thirty to ten. What's Mum want then?"

Harry explained everything Mrs Weasley had told him to.

"Chocolate chip?" was Ron's answer as he started pulling up a sock. "She hasn't made those in ages. It's cause of your big sis, isn't it? She's trying to make up for the stuff she said that time."

"But they've already made up," Harry protested. "I even saw your Mum teaching Elizabeth how to knit a couple of days ago."

"Yeah, well as long as she doesn't take any tips from Hermione . . ."

He and Harry sniggered.

"But still, chocolate chip? Chocolate _is_ Elizabeth's favourite food isn't it?" Ron asked while putting on his trousers.

"Yeah," Harry admitted, knowing Ron was thinking about the incident with the chocolate cake on his and Hermione's _Congratulations on Making Prefect_ party. "She really likes Mars Bars."

"What are Mars —? I'LL KILL 'EM!"

Harry, who had gone over to his side of the room to begin packing as well promptly whirled around at that, unconscious of the fact that he held a pair of underwear in hand.

"What is it?"

Ron looked up from rummaging in a draw, his face a mask of fury. "They've taken it. My Prefect badge! I left it here just last night!"

"Who's taken it?" asked Harry, though he had a shrewd suspicion.

"Tweedledee and Tweedledum!" Ron answered, mimicking Hermione's favourite muggle literature phrase of late. "Who else!"

"Well you can't really know . . ." Harry trailed off at the look on Ron's face. "Maybe you can," he murmured. "But how could they have gotten in?"

"They can apparate, that's how!"

"But we would have heard them . . . You're right, Ron," he added hastily. "It was definitely Fred and George!"

Ron was about to answer but a loud _crack_ prevented him.

"You!" he snarled.

Fred and George had apparated into the room.

"Us?" said George, looking at Fred. "You'd think we'd done something wrong with the way he's greeted us. Morning Harry, Snitches?"

It took Harry a moment to work out what on earth George had meant. When he did he hastily stuffed his boxers in his trunk and slammed shut the lid. "Elizabeth got them for me," he mumbled, his face burning.

Even Ron had a good laugh over that one.

"Ah Harry," said Fred, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye, "you never fail to amuse. Now, what's all this shouting about? You two get into an argument?"

"Dibs on the redhead," George added. "And not just because he's my brother. That boy can really kick!"

"Ron's lost his Prefect badge," explained Harry without thinking.

"I haven't lost it," Ron said tightly, glaring at his best friend. "You two stole it!" He waved

an accusing finger between the equally shocked expressions that the twins were sporting.

Harry assumed that either Fred or George actually hadn't stolen Ron's badge, or they were really good actors. Ron must have thought so too because he stopped pointing. "Well if you didn't, who then?"

George shrugged. "Beats me, little brother. But I know we wouldn't dream of tampering with it." He said that in such an innocent tone that it had to be suspect. Before Ron could question him about it, he continued, "Although, you should really make a list about who goes in and out your room, besides us and Harry of course."

"Everyone does," said Ron dully. "Mum especially," he added.

"There you have it! Mum's the culprit. She probably took it downstairs to polish."

"I can polish my own badge."

"Do you?" Fred said slyly. Before Ron could answer he and George disapparated.

"Can you believe them?" Ron sputtered, turning to look disbelievingly at Harry. "I bet it _was_ them. I bet they were only lying!"

"Maybe," was all Harry said, but he knew that both he and Ron weren't entirely convinced."

A couple of hours later after having eaten breakfast, Ron still hadn't found his Prefect badge, and had taken to blasting people (which included Mrs Wealsey) with random questions, hoping to catch them off guard. It was only until Mrs Wealsey leaned over the table and told him to shut up, did he do so. They all suspected that she was more than a little disappointed this morning because she had gone to all the trouble of making pancakes for Elizabeth, only to be told that she was still fast asleep and most likely wouldn't be joining them for breakfast.

But who should walk through the door a few moments later than Elizabeth herself, clutching a muggle duffel bag under one arm and a screaming, struggling, kicking Kreacher in another.

Everyone stared.

"Kreacher will not! Kreacher will not!" The house elf was screaming and shaking his head, beating his small fists at Elizabeth's stomach. She didn't even wince.

"Morning all," she said cheerfully, looking as though holding a screaming house elf was an every day occurrence. "I discovered _this_," the word 'this' was punctuated with Elizabeth holding Kreacher up by the neck and giving him a good shake, "in the attic, trying to pry open that magically sealed floorboard with your Mum's portrait in it, Sirius." Sirius only arched a brow. "And what else did I find that he hid up there. . .?"

"Kreacher will not! Kreacher will not!" The elf was struggling and punching and kicking so hard that his face had gone puce with the effort.

"Oh but you will if Sirius tells you to. Or if I pry it from you," she finished in a dark tone, looking towards Sirius.

Sirius, apparently having got over his shock, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and grinned as if to say "he's all yours."

"Stupid filthy halfblood girl!" the elf was snarling. "Kreacher wonders how she knows what Kreacher does. Every time she catches him. Every time she finds him!" The elf had gotten so angry that it seemed he had trouble breathing.

"When you mutter so loud that people in the next street can here you" —and people with supernatural hearing, Harry added silently— "and you have to wonder?" Elizabeth responded in her dry tone.

A brief glace at Hermione showed that she looked torn between guilt at the treatment Kreacher was receiving (which, in Harry's and, he was sure, in everyone else's opinion the house elf deserved) and curiosity at what he might have done. Though Harry was beginning to suspect . . .

"Kreacher will get the Mistress," Elizabeth mimicked, sounding uncannily like the house elf. "Kreacher will rid the Black House of its filth. When the mudbloods and werewolves and all the filth is gone Kreacher will put Mistress back on the wall. Oh my poor Mistress, stuck under the floor because of the brat boy's sister . . . blah blah blah blah blah," she finished dully. "You know, I'm getting _mighty_ sick of this."

"Aren't we all?" Sirius threw out from his place at the end of the table. He was still grinning.

Elizabeth grinned back. "Now, oh wicked little house elf, are you going to give Ron back his badge, or am I going to have to cut your hand off?" She said it sweetly, which made it sound all the more dangerous.

Ron looked incredibly surprised at having discovered it was Kreacher who had stolen his badge.

Kreacher looked like he was about to choke, and just as it seemed as if he would pass out from lack of hair he lifted his hand, which they saw was clenched around the badge, and threw it at Ron as hard as he could, which wasn't hard. Ron caught it and slipped it into his pocket.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Elizabeth said, setting Kreacher down on the floor.

"Kreacher must do as the young mistress wishes," he mumbled, not looking up from the ground. Though his eyes were darting. "Young mistress is dangerous. She knows things somehow. Kreacher cannot breathe without her knowing. Kreacher does not know what she is, but he will find out. They think they can keep secrets in the Black House, but Kreacher always knows —"

"The only thing you should know is how to leave the room in a hurry Kreacher," Sirius said dangerously. He had leaned forward in his seat and placed his forearms on the table. He was no longer smiling.

The elf froze and turned to glare at Sirius before giving him a mock bow. "Kreacher will do so, Master."

When Kreacher left, still muttering obscenities under his breath, everyone turned to look at Elizabeth.

"What?" she shrugged, dragging out the _a_. "You know he's been acting all freaky since I, erm, removed Sirius's mother's portrait from the wall. He's been stealing a lot lately. He's got a whole bunch of other stuff up in the attic too. I even found somebody's toothbrush up there just now. It looked really new."

Ignoring the resounding "ewws" and Tonks' shocked "I'd wondered where that went," Mrs Weasley shook her head. "It's not that dear," she said, looking puzzled. "It's just that you've managed to make him listen to you. No one who's not Sirius has ever done that."

Elizabeth blinked. Harry had never seen anyone look more surprised. "Oh. Well people have told me that I can be intimidating sometimes. Have no idea why. I have such a sweet disposition."

Harry hastily converted his laugh into quite a convincing cough. Elizabeth threw him a wink.

"Some water, Harry?" Hermione offered between gritted teeth, and Harry knew that neither he nor Elizabeth had earned any points with her.

He accepted the water, but avoided her eyes.

The morning drifted onwards very fast as it always does when you don't want it to. There had been some minor interruptions courtesy of Fred and George who couldn't remember where they'd stashed their second stock of sweets. Ron reminded them, much to Harry's surprise, that they were under Ron's bed, stuffed in a pillowcase.

At last it was time to leave.

They all lingered by the door, not needing to keep quiet anymore as Mrs Black's portrait was no longer there. Sirius gave him a strong one-armed hug and whispered for him to "take care" while Elizabeth squeezed first Hermione and Ginny, then Fred and George. When she withdrew from embracing the twins Harry could see that she had deposited something in Fred's hands. The looks of delight on their faces told him that it must have been something to do with a prank ingredient.

Ron looked to be eagerly awaiting his turn, and when Elizabeth hugged him she also gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Ron's ears did not stop burning and he had a hazy faraway look in his eyes for a long time after that.

Harry did not even have time to think _at_ _last it's my turn_ before he was lifted up, literally up from the ground so that his feet dangled, into such a strong embrace that his oxygen supply was cut off for a good ten seconds. When Elizabeth realised this she set him gently down and tenderly wrapped her arms around him again. Harry did the same. They just held each other for a long moment, Harry breathing in her scent, (which had become so familiar) breathing it in deep so that he wouldn't forget.

"I love you my little Harry," she finally mumbled against his shoulder.

"I love you," Harry whispered, so that only she heard. A slight jolt in his stomach made him realise that it was the first time he had ever spoken those words to anyone.

When they drew back Harry saw her emerald eyes had become crystalline because of the silent crying she'd been doing. She wiped them with the bottom of her shirt. "Be careful," she advised seriously.

"I will," he promised.

"And if some idiot people give you any trouble . . ." she trailed off, the look in her eyes dark and dangerous.

"I'll just sic Hedwig on them," Harry promised, but also knowing that the words would have made more of an impact if he'd promised he'd sic Runamuck on them instead. But Muck wasn't going to Hogwarts with Harry. As far as he knew, Bunyips weren't allowed there. The siblings had earlier agreed that she would be staying at Grimmauld Place with Sirius and Buckbeak while Elizabeth did secretive work for the Order.

"Everyone ready?" Mrs Weasley asked, turning this way and that to count the heads. "What is . . .? Sirius! For heaven's sake! Dumbledore said NO!"

Sirius had transformed into the huge Grim-like dog and now sat by Harry's side, wagging his tail erratically. He barked once.

"Oh no you won't!" said Mrs Weasley, apparently having picked up on Elizabeth's habit of talking to and understating animals. "You know what Dumbledore said!" She snapped her head upwards. "Elizabeth, talk to him, would you? You and Remus are the only ones he listens to these days!"

Since Lupin was currently gone, doing mysterious Order work, it would have to be Elizabeth's duty. But everyone could see that she didn't particularly want to. In fact, she grimaced as she looked down at Sirius. "Um, Molly, don't you think that Sirius —"

"Not really, no," said Mrs Weasley. Then she seemed to deflate. "Oh alright! But if you get caught, on your own head be it, Sirius." She shook her finger twice at the dog to prove her point.

Sirius barked happily, and Mrs Weasley sighed once more. "Alright you lot, time to go," she ordered shuffling them briskly along. They filed out of the house with Sirius bounding joyfully in front. Moody and his swirling eye, draped in a muggle coat and Thirties hat, was waiting for them by the porch. Harry had time only to whip around for one last look at his sister, who was standing alone in the dark corridor waving tearfully, before Mrs Weasley shut the door.

It was time to go to Hogwarts.

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"Big?" Hermione reiterated, biting her lip. The book she had been steadfastly perusing, entitled _Magical Herbs, _nowlay forgotten on the table next to her "Well that isn't so hard to work out, is it? She's obviously gone to see the giants."

"I thought so as well," Harry said.

Ron gulped, eyes flicking from one friend to the other. "_See_ the giants? She's gone to _see_ the giants? By herself? You make it sound like she's gone 'round for tea and crumpets." Despite obviously feeling that Dumbledore and Elizabeth were mental, Ron still looked deeply impressed.

"I don't think so Ron," Hermione said, frowning. "Remember Hagrid wasn't at the feast," she reminded them. "Who knows how long he's been away. I bet Dumbledore told Elizabeth to find him so they can go and see the giants together. It'll be easy for her to do so, I imagine. She can sense magical creatures, can't she? And they can sense her, no matter if they don't know what she is exactly."

Ron just shook his head and looked thoughtful. "I suppose it's not like they can actually hurt her, is it? She's, I mean—" he lowered his head and looked around the common room in case anyone was lurking behind armchairs, despite that it was not yet six o'clock in the morning "—she's a Slayer. A legend. There's not much that _can_ hurt her."

Hermione frowned. "Well, theoretically, no. One giant, maybe two, can't hurt her. She can probably beat them up. But a whole herd of them, ganging up on her . . ." she trailed off and glanced uneasily at Harry. "Of course, she still has her magic!" she finished extremely quickly.

Harry felt a frission of fear strike his stomach for a second before he remembered that Elizabeth was smarter than to let a herd of giants bash her to a bloody pulp. Plus, she had Hagrid with her.

"But what about Hagrid?" Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry. "She'll be safe with Hagrid. The giants wouldn't hurt him, would they? I mean, he's one of them."

"They're giants Ron," said Hermione gently, still looking sideways at Harry. "And don't forget, Hagrid's also part human."

"Oh. Right." Ron glanced up at Harry as well.

"Will you quit that!" Harry snapped at them. Ron gaped. Hermione shrank back in her chair, a hurt look in her eyes. Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just, you're looking at me like I'm going to break down or something. I _know_ that Elizabeth can take care of herself. She's proven it to me loads of times. Once, she told me about this Giant Wyrm she sometimes had problems with . . . But I'm not going to be bursting into tears just because I think she _might_ get hurt."

"We're sorry Harry," said Hermione softly.

"Yeah mate. Sorry."

Harry nodded and breathed deeply once more. "So, ahem, have we found anything in the books?"

They seemed glad for the change of topic, and Hermione became her usual brisk self. "Not yet. But then we've only been back for two days. And there's so much homework on top of that! But as soon as I'm able, I'll get a permission slip from Professor McGonagall so I can use the Restricted Section."

"D'you think she'll let you?" asked Ron, looking sceptical.

"I'll tell her I'm using it for extra credit," Hermione explained, already flipping avidly through _Magical Herbs._ "Besides, I'm a Prefect, and that ought to help my situation along."

"In the meantime," Harry began, feeling a shot of excitement churn through his stomach, "Ron and I can look up that Blood Brother charm and —"

_THUMP!_

Hermione had slammed shut her book and was now looking at him through narrowed eyes. He exchanged a glance with Ron. "Hermione?" he questioned.

Her cheeks heightened in colour, and she stared down at the thick text in her lap. "Look Harry, I'm sorry, but I don't think that's such a good idea!" Her voice had turned shrill at the end of the sentence and her face had become even brighter. Harry did not think it was from embarrassment from the fact that she'd, apparently, changed her mind about performing the charm.

"Why not!" he and Ron yelled out at the same time.

"You thought it _was_ a good idea earlier!" Ron looked indignant.

"Be quiet!" she whispered furiously, looking behind her at the stairs leading to the dormitories. "I did not think it was a good idea. If you recall, I was very reluctant to perform the charm."

"But now you've suddenly changed your mind?" Harry said dryly, something he'd most likely picked up from his sister.

Hermione winced. "Obviously."

They waited for her to elaborate.

She sighed and stood up. They watched her pace in front of the fire for a few seconds before she turned to look at them. "I got to thinking before, I mean a few days ago, after you told us about it, Harry."

"And?"

"And —" Hermione's cheeks heightened in colour again "—doesn't the whole situation sound contrived to you?"

"What d'you mean?" began Harry quickly, hoping Hermione wasn't saying what he thought she was. "You think that Elizabeth might have _deliberately, _Idon't know, cut herself on the piece of wood?"

"Sort of," she said tentatively, refusing to meet his eyes.

Ron braced his elbows on his knees. "Out with it then, Hermione!"

"She might have deliberately placed the piece of wood there, cut it from the banister, I mean, and positioned it so that it was sticking out — knowing everyone would think it was Kreacher since he's been doing stuff like that — then deliberately cut herself on it knowing that you, Harry, would come downstairs a few seconds later and cut yourself on the same bit of wood, thus having the excuse to perform the Blood Brother charm with you! And she would have known you were coming down the stairs because she would have heard you. She has advanced hearing. Maybe she even heard you before that as well!"

Harry and Ron only gaped a small moment before bursting out laughing. Hermione had said that extremely fast, without taking a breath, but that wasn't what they were laughing at. Her theory was so far-fetched that it sounded completely ludicrous.

"Thank you very much," Hermione bit out, clenching her fists. "But you seem to have forgotten what she told Harry afterwards—"

"Hermione," Ron finally said between breaths, "you've had some pretty strange ideas before. Like with the knitting and the whole Spew thing—"

"It's S.P.E.W!"

Ron continued like he hadn't heard her angry retort "—but _why_ would she do that? There's no reason!"

"There's a perfectly logical reason!" she argued. "What about what she told Harry?"

Harry, who still hadn't stopped laughing clutched his stomach, asked: "What did she tell me?"

"That it would look suspicious if someone saw that her cut had healed straight away. I mean, really!" Hermione snorted incredulously. "Like I said, she could have just explained that she had healed it by magic. But that's still only if someone saw her straight after she had cut herself, which I doubt. You told me yourself that she met you coming up the stairs, Harry. Don't you think the whole situation is a bit, well, strange? She just _happened_ to cut herself the same time _you_ did?"

Harry and Ron promptly stopped laughing. Ron looked uneasy. "Yeah, that does sound a bit . . ." he turned to Harry.

"Even if what you say is true," Harry began, strangely not that annoyed, "like Ron said, what possible reason?"

"And like I said before, there's probably a perfectly logical reason and I don't want to do this charm until I find out what that reason is! And why Elizabeth is hiding it. I know that she would never hurt us, so I don't think that the reason is anything harmful. But, she did set all this up. And whatever she's hiding she must not want you to know about it Harry." She finished by looking at him sympathetically.

This was sounding far too serious now to be just one of Hermione's strange ideas.

"You want me to Floo her then? You want me to ask my sister, whom I've only just met, whether or not she has it in for me?"

"Harry!"

He winced. "I know. I know. You don't think she has it in for me. I shouldn't have said it."

"Good. But I do think you should Floo her. Owling is out of the question though. I imagine she and Hagrid will have to be discrete, and letters are too easily traced. So Flooing is our only option at this point."

"But we don't know where she is," Ron said.

"When Hagrid comes back, we'll know that Elizabeth has come back also," Hermione explained calmly. "If she's not at Grimmauld Place we'll try your house Harry."

It took Harry a few seconds to realise that Hermione was not talking about Number Four Private Drive but his new residence on Magnolia Crescent.

"Okay," Harry agreed, still feeling completely overwhelmed. There was also another strange feeling. A painful, bitter feeling that weighed down on his heart. Harry new what it was: Betrayal. And he never expected he would ever associate it with his sister. "I'm going down to the Great Hall," he mumbled at them before scooping up his shoulder bag with his quills, ink, and parchment.

"What! But Harry —"

"Haven't you caused enough problems Hermione?" he said cruelly.

She closed her mouth tightly and her eyes became teary.

"And what about you!" Harry spun around to glare at his other best friend, who shrank back in his chair. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Ron sputtered. "I was on your side!"

A small whimper came from Hermione over that admission.

"Yeah, well . . ." Harry stuttered, feeling very stupid all of a sudden. "I'm going!" He spun around and walked extremely fast across the common room and out of the portrait hole. He didn't stop to glance around when Ron yelled his name either.

"Isn't it a bit early for breakfast?" the Fat Lady called after him, but Harry continued on.

_Idiot!_ Harry berated himself as he walked the corridors to the Great Hall. How could he have said that to Hermione? How could he have been so cruel? It seemed that ever since he had come back to Hogwarts — one time his favourite place in the world — things had gone really stupid. First the people, looking at him like he belonged in St Mungos. Then Umbridge with her week of detentions making him use that horrible quill (just because Harry had told the truth about Voldemort's return and the Ministry were too stupid to see it), and now this.

His own sister had lied to him. Set him up. Injured him. And for no apparent reason that Harry could see.

His angry strides lengthened even more at the thought. In no time at all, and not remembering how he got there, Harry found himself in the Great Hall. He walked to the Gryffindor table and sat down in the dark empty space. The only sound that could be heard was his frustrated breathing. Harry looked around at the vast emptiness, usually filled with chattering students. Thinking that it really was too early to have breakfast Harry walked back out of the hall with no real destination in mind.

He was surprised when he found himself back in front of the Gryffindor common room.

"You again?" said the Fat Lady. "Let me guess. The house elves haven't put breakfast on the tables yet?"

Harry snarled.

"No need to look at me like that! Password?"

"Never mind," Harry muttered. The mention of house elves had given him an idea.

"That isn't the password."

Harry ignored her and turned back around, but this time he walked rather morosely. He was a coward. Choosing house elves rather than confronting Ron and Hermione. He wondered if they were angry at him. Even Harry was angry at himself. At least he would get see Dobby. Dobby wouldn't be angry at him.

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Review Please.


	14. A day in the life of

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and everyone else's enjoyment.

A/N: Thank you a thousand times for all the wonderful reviews. This chapter was actually going to be longer, but I decided it was sufficient enough. Wouldn't want to bore you. Enjoy!

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**Chapter Fourteen: A day in the life of . . .**

Harry found himself in the library the next day after classes had finished — alone. There had been a brief incident with Madam Pince when he had accidentally wandered in front of the Restricted section, but he'd managed to escape her shrewish eyes before they'd jerked in his direction by leaping into the next isle, which happened to be romance fiction. Blushing slightly at the cover of a certain novel (which depicted a very pretty buxom-dressed witch who blew him a kiss) he hurriedly made his way out of that section, and ventured deeper into the library. He was surprised to find two ginger heads bent over a table and pouring over some thick books in between the Dragon Breeding and Monstrous Creature isles.

". . . she'll do her lid if we don't tell her!" George was whispering ferociously to Fred, who was scribbling away on a fresh piece of parchment.

"Who says we don't have to tell her?" said Fred, his quill pausing momentarily as he looked up at his twin.

"Ah, I see. Don't tell her all of it —"

"Don't tell who all of what?" Harry interjected.

The twins' heads whipped around. Fred quickly stuffed the parchment he'd been scribbling on into his pocket.

"Harry!" he said, a little too cheerfully.

"Smashing to see you here in the library of all places," George continued, just as cheerfully.

"Well considering I've been going to the library almost every day to look for that ingredient, I'd say that makes your statement somewhat redundant," Harry said, his hands in his pockets.

The twins looked momentarily amazed, then pleased. "I see you've been taking lessons from Elizabeth. Keep going and not even Snape will be able to match you in sarcasm," Fred grinned.

"Snape can go rot!" Harry spat, not certain if he was angry at the thought of being compared to Snape, or just irritated at the thought of Snape himself, or just feeling betrayed at the brief mention of his sister, whom he wasn't sure he had forgiven yet. "What are you two up to then?"

"Nothing to worry your pretty head over," said Fred, arranging the quills back into his knapsack. "How're Ron and Hermione these days by the way?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled, shuffling forward to sit into a chair opposite them. "I take it you heard about our little spat the other morning?" he added.

George twirled his wand. "You could say that the whole common room heard you, but then again, you could say that they hadn't at the same time."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "What?" Sometimes listening to the twins was a chore.

"I mean we were already awake, Harry dear," said Fred, now having packed everything away. "We were in our room, lying on our beds, twiddling our thumbs—"

"And talking about the world. Particularly the female aspect—"

"—when we heard your dulcet tones rise in such a sweet pitch we were obliged to investigate the source of the beckoning sound."

"Alas that you were already prancing out of the portrait hole by the time we got there," George concluded.

"Prancing?" Harry asked.

"Well it seemed to fit in with the whole 'sweetness' theme," George said, looking thoughtful. "Otherwise we would have used 'storming' out."

Harry grinned.

"So!" Fred slapped his thigh like an old man would do before standing up. "I take it by your admission of 'Fine' earlier, that things are back as they should be between you three?"

Harry looked down at the table and slumped in his seat. "Sort of." He looked back up and saw the twins exchanging glances. "What I mean is, we've forgiven each other. Hermione and I. Ron really didn't have anything to do with it."

"For once," Fred mumbled. "But that is wonderful, Harry, 'deed it is. However, I'm afraid that George and I have a previous engagement. Frightfully sorry to leave you hanging like this, old boy!"

"Alone, we mean," George added.

"But we really must go."

Before Harry could think to question the twins once more they had already swung up there bags, run down the isle, and disappeared around the corner.

Harry had to contend himself with sitting for five minutes in the gloomy library thinking about nothing (which was very hard to do, and he was sure he hadn't achieved it) before he, too, walked out.

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After the somewhat pointless conversation with the twins Harry found himself wandering the grounds near the lake in a sort of hazy plod that if anyone was to see from a Hogwarts window would assume he was going to drown himself. But Harry just didn't care anymore about what other people thought. It had hurt and angered him at first about all those untrue stories wizards everywhere were telling about him, but now that just seemed so inconsequential compared to the betrayal he was feeling on account of his sister. He was also feeling very confused. Mostly because he had absolutely no idea why she had done what she had done.

_Stop it!_ Harry told himself firmly. _You agreed you wouldn't think about it until the time came to question her._

That was right. Harry would not think about it at all.

He had a while before his detention with Umbridge, and sitting down by the birch tree seemed like a good idea to while away the hours. Of course Harry understood that it was probably an even better idea to actually do his homework and all the assignments that were due (courtesy of OWLS this year) but he just couldn't summon up enough energy to do so. Also, Hermione and Ron were in the common room right about now, and despite having forgiven each other, he still did not want to face them just yet. The hurt was just too fresh.

Harry was so busy thinking about not thinking about Elizabeth's betrayal that he tripped over something just as he reached the birch.

Falling flat on his face with a mouthful of dirt was not what he had in mind to do instead of his homework, but it was what he did.

"Yuck!" Harry spat out some wet dirt. Surprisingly, it did not taste like one would think wet dirt to taste like. It had the crushed sandpapery substance one would expect of it, yes, but it tasted bitter and not at all like its fresh, earthy smell suggested. For some reason, Harry rather assumed it would have tasted like—

_Click click click._

Harry froze as he was getting up from the ground so that his position now faintly resembled a dog's stance. He had heard that _clickety_ sound before, or at least one very similar to it, and he suddenly hoped that it wasn't what he thought it was.

Slowly, Harry got up from his crouch and turned around.

_There!_ Behind him, the thing he had tripped over. _Sigmund!_

Harry stared at the red shiny Blearglob, appreciating, for one bizarre moment, its resemblance to a Blast-Ended-Skrewt.

Then Sigmund's roving satellite-like antennas caught his attention and Harry suddenly became so furious that his vision hazed for two seconds.

_How dare she!_ Harry thought, clenching his fists so hard that his nails bit into his palms. He didn't even stop to think how Sigmund had come to be here, at Hogwarts, and when Elizabeth had sent him and why. It was obvious to him. _But how dare she pretend to care? How dare she check up on me? Spy on me? _

Because Harry had no doubt that was what she was doing at this very moment. Her and Emma.

"Yeah?" Harry spat at it. "Having a good gawk? It's not like you care, is it! I want you to get lost! I never want to see you again! I wish I'd never met you! You hear me?" His breathing became erratic. "STOP SPYING ON ME . . . ! AND HERE'S ONE FOR THE CAMERA!"

He aimed a kick at the Blearglob that he largely miscalculated because he almost slipped in the mud again. Sigmund scuttled backwards extremely fast, gave Harry a look with his tiny black eyes and executed a perfect dive into the lake so that only a faint _plop_ could be heard.

"Good riddance," Harry muttered, then suddenly, he was struck with the bizarre urge to cry. He did _not_ give into it. But he was forced to acknowledge that Elizabeth's betrayal had hurt him far more deeply than he had first assumed.

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"You know what to do Mr Potter."

Umbridge gestured with her stumpy fingers to the seat opposite her, then to the quill that rested on the table beside a fresh sheet of parchment, looking innocent and unsuspecting. But Harry knew it wasn't. And pretty soon, he was sure the back of his hand would bare proof for all who cared to look.

And her sickly sweet voice was fraying his nerves. He didn't know how much more girlish simpering he could take from the toad sitting across from him.

Harry picked up the quill, took a moment to mentally glare at it, then began to write '_I must not tell lies' _over and over until the cramp in his hand became even more painful than the cuts on the back of it, which were now bleeding quite heavily.

He counted to three, then resumed his writing. He didn't dare look up at Umbridge to see if she had noticed his momentary pause. For some reason, he didn't care either way. But he almost regretted that thought when Umbridge set down her own work and bent forward, leaning her face into her chunky hands so that it squashed upwards, making her appear even more bulbous and toady and wrinkly than usual. Harry fought the urge to grimace and shudder and show all those emotions which signify disgust.

"You may stop now," she said, quite ignoring that Harry had already done so. Which was very unusual. Harry thought that she ought to be jumping at the chance to reprimand him for some stupid slight such as stopping to write when she didn't order him to, and the fact that she wasn't put him completely on his guard. Something was going on, that was certain.

"Hem hem," she began, and Harry —who had put his hand under the table so that she wouldn't get the urge to check and see how far the cuts had penetrated— clenched his fist at the sound. "It has come to my attention that you had recently changed locations, Mr Potter."

All Harry could do was gape, wondering how she had come by that knowledge. The words "So, what of it?" immediately came to mind, but he stopped his tongue in the last second. Umbridge would not appreciate rudeness. So all he said was "Yes."

Umbridge giggled, and this time Harry could not stop his face contorting into an expression of horror and disgust at the sound, which sounded as though a hoard of flies had been swallowed by a large-bellied toad and were now buzzing around angrily inside its stomach. Luckily, Umbridge had closed her eyes when she laughed and had not seen.

"Tsk tsk. Now that won't do at all, Mr Potter," said Umbridge, after finishing her bout of giggling. "When I ask a question you must answer 'Yes Professor Umbridge' or 'No Professor Umbridge'. Now let's try again." She tapped her desk sharply with a pudgy forefinger. "Had you recently changed locations, Mr Potter?"

Harry unclenched his teeth. "Yes, _Professor_ Umbridge."

"Very good." She paused, her eyes glittering almost manically. Harry fought not to draw back. "With _whom_ had you changed locations?"

Harry was sure his heart started palpitating in that moment. "What—?" was all he managed to get out before Umbridge interrupted: "What I mean is, with whom did you go to the Ministry for Magic —more precisely the International Transfer Office— on August Twelfth, to change your location? Could it be the same person you are currently living with, perhaps? One Elizabeth Evans?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business . . . _Professor_."

The maniacal gleam went out of Umbridge's eyes. "I'll have you know, Mr Potter, that —"

"It really _isn't_ any of your business," Harry concluded, now thinking it an absolutely brilliant idea to continue in this vein. "Where I live is nobody's business but my guardians', and those I choose to give my address to. And since my new address is currently registered at the Ministry, I don't see how and why there would be a problem. It's all perfectly legal. Which means I don't see the point of you questioning me for something that is unrelated to this detention and really _none_ of your business."

There was utter silence for thirty seconds. Then: "An extra week of detention for you Mr Potter."

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Harry did not get angry. He did not get furious. He didn't even get hurt. What he did get was a heavy sense of injustice.

So he went straight to Professor McGonagall.

Her face registered suspicious surprise when she opened the door to his knock. Harry was just thankful she hadn't put on her tartan dressing gown yet. Somehow, it made her appear even more formidable, as though she made up the intimateness that her clothes presented by becoming even more strict as a sort of defence mechanism. "Potter," she greeted in her brisk way. "Aren't you supposed to be in detention?"

"I just finished. Can I come in?"

McGonagall apprised him with a singular raised eyebrow before stepping aside. Harry hurried over the threshold and she closed the door behind him. She moved over to stand beside her desk, gesturing for Harry to sit. Harry shook his head. "No thank you, I'll stand." He already felt intimidated coming to her office like this, there was no need to help the situation along by having McGonagall staring down at him throughout their conversation, making her appear even more intimidating.

"As you wish, Potter. How can I help you?"

"Well, as you know Professor, I've just come from a detention with Umb— I mean Professor Umbridge. And well," he paused, knowing McGonagall would not be pleased, so he finished quickly, "I've just received another one."

"You mean," McGonagall breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "that after the conversation we had—"

"But it wasn't about that at all!" Harry burst out, indignant. "She'd started asking me questions, about why I'd changed houses, and with _whom_. She knows about Elizabeth Professor!"

McGonagall looked shocked at this. Her eyebrows went up and her mouth went down. "That she's your sister?"

"No," Harry was forced to admit. "I don't think so. But the fact that she mentioned her is worrying. So I told her to mind her own business, that it was perfectly legal to change houses, and she gave me a week's worth of detention!"

"Well you'll just have to go to those detentions. Merlin knows we need to win the Quidditch Cup again this year; although, _how_ we can possibly do so when our star seeker is permanently unavailable. . ."

"What! Professor . . . !" he couldn't believe she was bringing that up.

"What do you want me to say, Potter?" she stared at him. "I warned you not to aggravate Dolores Umbridge, yet you continue to do so. It's out of my hands now."

"But what about fairness? She can't give me a detention because I told her to mind her own business about my private life at home."

"You have been spending far too much time with your sister, Potter," was what McGonagall said.

"So I've been told," said Harry, pausing to consider just why McGonagall had said that. "But I have to say, I'm grateful about her influence on me. I never would have tried to argue my case otherwise. I can see now that it was pointless from the beginning—!"

"Mr Potter!" said McGonagall, her nostrils widening. "She is your teacher and therefore has a right to assign you detention—!"

"Not with this she doesn't—!"

"Yes she does!"

"A week?" Harry asked indignantly. "For telling her to mind her own business? Not even Snape was that cruel!"

"That's _Professor_ Snape, Potter! And Ten Points will be taken from Gryffindor for your insubordination! And I won't hear another word on the subject." She placed a hand on her desk and breathed deeply. "It's almost curfew now, go back to your dormitory."

"Goodbye Professor." Without waiting for McGonagall's answer, Harry spun on his heels and left.

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The injustice it of it all was what was getting to Harry. He would have thought that McGonagall —who was fairness incarnate (albeit strict) and followed rules to the Tee—would argue his case against Umbridge. And Harry did not doubt that he had a case. But it appeared as though McGonagall was even more of a stickler for Teacher's Rights.

But what could Harry do but go back to his common room? It was almost curfew. He couldn't wander around.

When he came upon The Fat Lady's portrait he took the time to draw a couple of deep breaths.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia."

The portrait swung open and admitted Harry into the room. A few fourth years were finishing up homework on the far side and Ron, Hermione, the twins, and Ginny were sitting by the fireplace apparently in deep conversation. Seeing Harry they stopped talking and straightened up. Before he could think to accuse them of keeping secrets and talking about him behind his back Fred patted the cushion next to him and Harry went to sit down.

"What's going on?" he asked. To his surprise, nobody looked guilty.

"Hermione's just told us, Harry," Fred explained with the air of one talking about the weather, "about what Elizabeth did to you."

"What!" Harry glared at Hermione. _How dare she tell anyone?_ "Hermio—"

"And we have to say," Fred continued, as if Harry hadn't said anything, "that we think it's all a load of nonsense. And Hermione does too, now that we've explained all the angles."

That brought Harry up. "Wha–I mean . . . you do?" He blinked. "Why?"

The twins looked incredibly pleased with themselves.

"Only that we told her someone like Elizabeth – a bonafide troublemaker – could never do something like that without a good reason," said George.

"I know this," said Harry impatiently. "And Hermione already knew this. What's your point?"

Ginny leaned forward, speaking for the first time. "Our point is that we know Elizabeth Harry. You don't see her how we see her. You're too close to her, and you were probably more hurt by what she did than you let on." Harry hoped no one could see the flush on his face. "But we—" she gestured to herself and the others "—are outsiders and to us it doesn't look like she did something completely treacherous. We talked about it, and we all admit that she is up to something, but not something cruel. We all agreed that it's more likely she's doing this to protect you."

Harry felt like snorting. "Protect me? She has a funny way of showing it! I can still feel the pain from the cut."

This wasn't entirely true but he held up his hand anyway in order to show them. He did not expect to have to jump back at Hermione's loud scream.

"Oh Harry!" she said, her eyes filling with horror.

"What!" Harry looked at Ron. His eyes had widened to comical proportions. Everyone else mirrored the same expressions. "It's not that bad, it's almost closed now—"

"No Harry, we don't mean that!" Hermione grabbed his hand. "_This_!" She was referring to the cuts on the back. Umbridge's '_I must not tell lies_', which were still bleeding, but not a lot now. "What's all this about?"

Harry yanked back his hand and stuffed it into his robes. "My detention," he mumbled, ignoring Hermione and Ginny's shocked gasps. "She made me use a blood quill."

Hermione clenched her fists. "Ooooooh! She makes me so mad! I just wish we could do something about her!" She jerked her gaze to Harry's. "You have to tell Professor McGonagall, Harry, she'll help—!"

Harry snorted. "That's what you think. I've just been to McGonagall to complain about another week of detentions I received from Umbridge—"

"Again?" was everyone's response.

"Harry, you know you shouldn't talk about . . . well, you know."

"I. Didn't. Hermione! She was going on about my having changed locations. And she knows about Elizabeth. But only that she's my guardian, nothing else," he added when they all opened their mouths. "So I told her to mind her own business about something which I did legally and also nothing to do with detention."

"You said that?" said Ron in awe.

"Yeah." Harry fought the urge to puff up with pride. Ron's approval meant everything to him at that moment.

"Never mind that now," said Hermione briskly. "You were saying, about McGonagall?"

"Right. Well, I explained to her what I just told you and she said Umbridge has a right to give me detention because she's my teacher."

Hermione drew back, a puzzled look across her brow. "Well that's not at all right!" she suddenly spat. "Oh, this is just like the Wizarding World, isn't it? So archaic. Nothing at all like the Muggles. There aren't as many student rights here! But I never expected Professor McGonagall . . . Harry!" she said all of a sudden, flapping a hand excitedly in his direction. "'Together we are united'! Why don't we all go back to her office and show her your hand."

"No way," Harry said automatically, horrified by the idea. "This is my personal war with Umbridge, I don't want the other teachers to know."

"Actually Harry," said Ron looking thoughtful, "I reckon it might a good idea."

"What?" said Harry, bemused.

"Yeah, think about it," said George, whom Harry expected would be one of the last people to agree. "If we tell McGonagall Umbridge has been using a blood quill on you, she'll be sacked. Or at the very least put on probation."

"But don't you see?" Harry argued, standing up in order to pace. _How could they be so blind?_ "She's in Fudge's employ. The Ministry has all the power now. Fudge'll find a loophole and then we're still stuck with her. Besides, I wouldn't put it passed them to claim I'm lying about it to seek attention and to discredit the Ministry."

Everyone visibly slumped. Hermione looked the most disappointed. "Still," she said. "I think you should tell McGonagall so that she knows about it. You might even be able to get out of the extra week of detentions."

"I doubt it," Harry said darkly.

"I think you ought to give McGonagall a bit more credit than that."

"Hermione, she wouldn't even lift a finger to help me when I asked her to," Harry reminded her, angry that she just couldn't seem to grasp the concept. Why did she have to be so pushy?

"Fine," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "Then you should go to the Headmaster. Tell him at least."

"No!" Harry said immediately. "It's not like he tells _me_ anything."

"Harry, you make it sound like . . .! You told us yourself that you spent a couple of days with him over the summer holidays when he was taking you to meet Elizabeth for the first time."

"So?"

"'So', you should know him a little bit by now, surely. And, need I remind you, he was the one who told you about Elizabeth."

"Only 'cause she didn't give him any choice. She wrote me a letter, didn't she?"

Hermione sighed. "I give up arguing—" Harry bit his tongue to keep from going 'Finally!' "—if you don't want to tell, that's your decision I suppose. But at least let me make some Essence of Murtlap for you after your detention tomorrow. To help with the pain."

"Okay," Harry agreed, not knowing what Essence of Murtlap was, but spending four years with Hermione had taught him to trust the knowledge that was stored in her incredibly large brain, and seemed to work on permanent automatic pilot, even when she was asleep. Besides, it was his last detention until next week.

Hermione nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, on to other things which are no less important . . ."

Everyone blinked at the sudden shift in topics, but managed to give Hermione their undivided attention nonetheless.

"I finally acquired that pass to the Restricted section—with a lot of grovelling to Professor Sprout mind you. I still have dirt under my nails! Plus, going through Madam Pince was such a chore! I had to give her my entire list of books and she had to go toddle off and get them. Because of course I, a prefect, am not allowed in there!"

Everyone blinked again. It was not like Hermione to degrade authority figures like this, while using a heavy does of sarcasm. She was probably stressed out from all the homework.

"But I still have to return them all tomorrow!" she continued, pausing to breathe rather hard. Then she shook her head as if dismissing a vile thought. "Anyway, that's why we have to read them all tonight. And carefully! We don't want to miss something crucial."

"Just one question . . ." Ron began, his face contorting with horror as Hermione unearthed several thick, fraying texts from a bag she had hidden under the table, and which she now lifted (rather painfully it seemed) onto the desktop.

"Yes?" she breathed, looking up from unloading the books.

"U-um," Ron stumbled, still staring. Then he seemed to snap out of it. "Just wanted to know how you managed to discover the titles of the books, and what's in them for that matter, if you've never been to the Restricted section?"

That seemed to Harry a perfectly reasonable question and he, Fred, and George, along with Ron, turned to look at her expectantly. They failed to notice Ginny shaking her head in disgust.

"I used the catalogues, Ron," Hermione explained, not looking up from doling out a book to everyone. "You know, those little rectangular cards that are filed in alphabetical order according to section, name of author, and, in some cases, date?"

Ron's ears went so red he was in danger of becoming an exploding tomato. Harry, Fred, and George tried to look as though they hadn't been paying attention to what Ron had asked, and so would be exhumed from feeling stupid along with him. It did not work.

"You mean to tell us," Hermione said, now starting incredulously at the four of them, "that all these days you've spent in the library before and after classes, you've just been randomly picking up a book and hoping to find a mention of _Brillogsapor Clanniria_?"

Fred twirled his quill. George scratched the back of his head. Harry adjusted his glasses. None of them were looking at her, not even Ron, who appeared to have dazed out and now sat staring at the table, his cheeks still burning.

And to make matters worse, they could hear Ginny snickering off to the side. Hermione closed her eyes as if in pain. A peculiar grimace twisted her mouth. "Alright!" she said suddenly. Her voice sounded curiously wobbly. "Alright. Alright." Ginny continued to snicker. "I trust it won't happen again?"

All muttered "No."

"Good!" Hermione's voice now took on a strange high-pitched tone. "Very good! . . ." There was a pause . . . then she burst out laughing, tagging Ginny along with her. "Oh we're so sorry!" she said, in between gasps. "But, but . . ."

"It's just unbelievably funny that you spent all these years at Hogwarts not knowing how to properly use the library," Ginny concluded, clutching her stomach. "I mean, how've you done your assignments? And it's even funnier when we look at Fred and George, as they've been here the longest!"

At this Hermione howled even more loudly. "Oh stop it Ginny! I can't breathe anymore!"

Fred and George managed to display affront, confusion, and amusement all at once.

Harry had to suppose that it was rather funny when he looked at it from Hermione and Ginny's point of view. He had memories of himself wondering the shelves throughout the last years, knowing which section harboured what, but completely oblivious as to which book he might find his longed-for information in. There had been many a time when Harry and Ron both just simply could not find anything to do with the assignment topic at hand and had resorted to copying from Hermione's work when she wasn't looking or just plain using the information in their assigned text books. Which hadn't nearly been enough to satisfy most Professors. But then that could have all just been laziness, he reflected.

And all that trouble just because they hadn't known the library had an extensive catalogue detailing everything. Harry suspected he wasn't the only one feeling foolish right about now. It just went to show that he hadn't spent much time in the library.

"I mean," Hermione continued, now breathing somewhat normally, "I thought you knew. With all the research we'd done for all our, um, adventures throughout the years? It just seemed sort of obvious to me that you should know. I mean, everyone does!"

"Well we probably did know," said Ron, trying to save face. "It's just, you sort of forget when you don't go in there a lot, don't you? Although, I'd wondered what those big cabinets in the corner by Pince's desk were for . . ."

Hermione made a strange noise in the back of her throat that went something like "Mmglrck."

"Fred and I thought that was where Pince had stashed all her secret magazines," George added seriously, but then wriggled his eyebrows as if to make some sort of point.

Hermione looked aghast. "Why would you possibly think that?"

Fred shrugged. "We were kids at the time. First year. It was fun to imagine that sort of thing."

"The fact is, we just never unimagined it. Besides, she's an old bat," George threw in calmly. "Has nothing better to do, does she?"

"I-I don't think . . ." Hermione trailed off, apparently too dazed to finish.

Harry and Ron bit their lips to keep from laughing at her.

"I mean," Fred continued, still staring thoughtfully at nothing, "she's got to spend everyday in the library, got to catch up to time. It's got to be boring. I wonder if she ever goes in that little room off to the side—?"

"Can we just get off this pointless topic, please?" Hermione burst out, clutching her temple. "We have work to do and a lot of it. Now get cracking people!"

Not even fifteen minutes of boring reading had passed when George whispered "Eureka, my faithful friends, I think I've found Vault 305."

Hermione suddenly leaned forward so far in her seat that Fred had to shift back to avoid getting sat on. "That's fantastic George! What exactly have you found?"

"Just a mention," George said proudly as Ron groaned. "That's it?" he asked, but no one was really paying attention, as they were all staring at George.

There was no hint of tomfoolery about him now as he read out aloud from the text. "It says here . . . oh I missed that the first time round . . . um . . . blah blah . . . _then_ _add two shots water, a pinch ground Aconite, two drops Artropa Belladonna, and pinch of _Brillog Clann_. Use drink to drifteth in sleep of high meditate. The useth of too much Aconite brings death upon threshold of thee. _And there's a funny little poem underneath that.

_Death's door did plunge,_

_into the sponge_

_Of reason that thee held._

_When the sponge,_

_hath taketh the plunge._

_We all will go to hell._

_The hell I speak_

_will last a week_

_depending on the mind._

_But if the mind_

_Can be sublime_

_Deaths door will comfort find._"

George finished with a look of supreme discomfort and confusion.

Hermione, however, looked thoughtful. "It seems to say that you'll be damned either way if you drink that sedative. If you put in too much Aconite you, the '_sponge_' will either be in incredible pain for a week, fighting it out only if you have a high strength of will. Or, at the end of the week, you'll die. '_Deaths door will comfort find_.' But that doesn't matter," she said dismissively, "as where not making that potion.

"But what George found is useful nonetheless. It says a 'pinch' of _Brillog Clann_ – which is the old name for it, I assume. But a 'pinch' indicates that it's a solid substance, most likely a powder, that we'll have to grind—"

"But what about if we don't need to use the powdered origin for _our_ potion?" Ginny interjected, managing to surprise Hermione. "What if _Brillogsapor Clanniria_ is a plant that, for the use in our potion, we have to squeeze the juice out of the stems? Or, we might have to use its leaves and ground those? Or even its roots! They can be the most potent in some plants according to Professor Snape."

Hermione slumped back in her chair, looking defeated. "You're right, Ginny. I can't believe I missed that. This means we haven't really gotten anywhere."

"It doesn't say anywhere in the Animagus book on how to harvest the plant after you get it?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No. It's done for safety reasons. We'll just have to find a mention in some other book. It will be something like this, for example: Brillogsapor Clanniria is most potent in the use of the Animagus Potion, where the drinker will have to grind the stem sixty-four times within twelve minutes under the light of a quarter-moon before it's ready for use, etcetera. Most potent ingredients are difficult to prepare if you want to do it correctly," she said apologetically to the looks on their faces.

Ron shivered. "I just hope it's nothing like that."

"So do we," said Fred and George darkly.

No one else said anything.

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The next day seemed as leaden as the day before it. The weather was still sodden, reflecting the moods of the six friends, who hadn't gotten very far in their pursuit of the ingredient since last night. Hermione had already taken the books back as ordained by Professor Sprout, and was now on the hunt to get some more, but this time she was using Professor Flitwick's permission. "I'm his best student," Hermione had argued when Harry pointed out that the teachers' likely talked to each other about students in their staffroom, which meant Flitwick probably knew about Hermione and Sprout, and so, would not give her the go-ahead. "He knows I'm responsible." Then she had spun around so hard (her arms and bag filled with books) that she was in danger from overbalancing. She had thrown Harry a glare over her shoulder before hurrying down the corridor. "Barmy," had been Ron's response to that.

On the bright side Quidditch tryouts were on that afternoon, and Ron would be harking for Keeper. There wasn't anything more that Harry wished he could go to, but he still had his last detention for Umbridge for the week. On Monday he would start again, he thought sourly. And he still hadn't told Angelina, who would no doubt explode. Harry was just hoping he wouldn't get replaced as seeker.

The great hall was, once again, Hagridless, but Harry wasn't as worried about his oversized friend as he would have been if Elizabeth hadn't been with him. He still didn't know what to think when his thoughts turned to her, but the fact that she and Hagrid were together on their dangerous mission comforted him.

When it was almost time to head to class Hermione plonked down in the seat next to Harry's, looking sour. "You were right, he wouldn't sign my permission slip. Said it would show favouritism. Even though I tried explaining that I hadn't found what I was looking for."

"I guess this calls for Operation Invisibility Cloak?" Fred whispered half-seriously half-jokingly, leaning forward.

Hermione nodded promptly. "Yes. And Ginny and I will be the ones going. Tonight. When everyone else is asleep. You lot don't know how to find yourselves out of a paper bag, let alone find the correct books," she finished nastily.

Ron sputtered. "I'm sure if you give us the titles—"

"Some books in the Restricted Section think it funny to disguise themselves as other books," Hermione informed while scooping a bunch of crisp bacon onto her plate, followed by an egg. "While others attach themselves to you without letting go. Still others scream, cry, and/or vomit their pages on the unfortunate reader when they get to an interesting part, than rearrange themselves in whichever order to confuse. You need to know how to tame them."

"And you know?" Ron asked sceptically.

"How do you suppose the books you read last night didn't attack you?" was all Hermione divulged, leaving a gaping Ron to stare incredulously at her bushy head.

Harry, Ginny, Fred, and George exchanged glances. Fred then performed an action with his hand that had the rest snorting into their Pumpkin Juice.

The rest of the day passed without incident, unless Harry counted tripping over his shoelace, but that was only because Peeves had untied it in his invisible state so that Harry couldn't see. He had flown off, cackling madly, when Harry found himself with a face full of thousand-year-old Hogwarts stone.

The detention with Umbridge did not go as bad as the night before, thankfully, which wasn't to say it still wasn't a horrible experience. Just having to look at Umbridge's face was enough to induce horror in the sanest of people, let alone having to contend with a blood quill on top of that. He did, however, have a good view of the Quidditch Pitch, but that proved fruitless also because Harry was too far away to see the faces of the people trying out, so he couldn't tell who had won.

When Umbridge said to Harry at the end of detention, "Hand, Mr Potter," he fought _extremely_ hard not to punch her in her ugly smirking face. But he thrust his hand at her anyway, shuddering when her plump, jewelled fingers grasped it. Almost at once the scar on his forehead flared and a peculiar sensation resonated in his stomach. He yanked back his hand and leaped from his seat.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly.

Harry did not answer, not knowing if she meant the cuts on his hand or if she knew about the pain in his scar.

"Yes, well I think you've learned your lesson. For this at least. Monday you will be writing _'I must not talk back to authority figures'_. Good night, Mr Potter."

Harry got out of there as fast as he could, telling himself that it wasn't what it seemed.

When he, at last, stepped passed the Fat Lady's portrait he was greeted with a roar of deafening sound. Ron came rushing over to him, slopping Butterbeer down his front from the Goblet he was clutching. "Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"That's great, Ron," he said. He could see Fred and George engaging a group of first years, who all bore unmistakable signs of nosebleeds.

"Hermione's asleep," Ron told him, gesturing to one of the sofa's with his thumb. "She was all excited before."

Then he left to a hail by Lee Jordan. Just then, in the corner of his eye, he could see Angelina striding towards his direction. They had a brief, filling conversation about Ron's tryouts before Harry remembered he had yet to tell her about his extra week of detentions.

"Listen, Angelina," said Harry, interrupting her speech on the practise session they were to have at two o'clock tomorrow, "I won't be able to make our practices next week. Umbridge has given me another week of detention."

Angelina stared at him

"But I'll be there tomorrow," he added hastily.

Angelina shook her head slowly. "You better be there tomorrow, Potter. That's all I'm saying. You better."

Harry nodded vigorously. Angelina went to find another Butterbeer, still shaking her head. Harry had a feeling he had so overwhelmed her that her ability to interact had been temporarily disbanded from all conscious thought.

Harry moved to sit next to Hermione, who woke with a jerk as he put down his bag.

"Oh Harry, it's you . . . good about Ron, isn't it?" she said blearily, rubbing her eyes. "I was just finishing up on homework. I couldn't do it before," she stopped, looking around, then continued in a whisper, "Ginny and I haven't been able to sneak out of the Portrait hole yet. I didn't think the celebrations would continue this long. It's already passed one thirty and I'm dead tired, and Ginny's already gone to sleep. We'll just have to go tomorrow night."

It was then that Harry noticed she was sitting on his Invisibility Cloak. "That's fine, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him, her eyes darting between his own. "Is something wrong, Harry?" In that one instant Harry was extremely glad his best friend was so observant, and he told her about the pain in his scar that appeared when Umbridge had touched him and his suspicions that she might be possessed by Voldemort, like Quirrell.

Hermione dismissed it at once. "He's got his own body now, hasn't he? I don't imagine he can possess someone anymore like he could Quirrell. Although, he could have her under the Imperious Curse, I suppose . . ."

Hermione did not sound very certain on that last one, and Harry was very relieved about this and thanked her by grinning. Hermione grinned back, obviously pleased for him. "I'm glad I could take on some of your burden, Harry. And don't forget what Dumbledore said last year. Your scar can also hurt when the Dark Lord's feeling particularly strong emotions. It could have just been a coincidence that your scar pained as Umbridge touched your hand."

"She's evil," Harry insisted.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She opened her mouth to add something else, but Harry beat her to it. "I'm not going to go to Dumbledore with this, Hermione."

"I wasn't going to suggest that!" she protested. But Harry could tell she was lying by how red her cheeks had become.

"Well in any case," Harry said, ignoring Hermione's even pinker face, "I'm going to write to Sirius and tell him."

Hearing that, Hermione tried to make him back out, claiming he couldn't put something like that in a letter, but Harry was adamant.

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The next morning dawned minty and fresh and dewy, which was perfectly agreeable weather to write in, thought Harry as he sat in a particularly squishy armchair composing his letter to Sirius. It was hard at first, but eventually he finished. He had added clever little lines like "We have a new teacher, she's nearly as nice as your Mum," which were sure to make Sirius laugh.

Sealing the letter, Harry made his way to the Owlery. He passed both Nearly Headless Nick, who warned him to take the left exist to the Owlery as Peeves was causing a commotion on the right, and Mrs Norris, whom Harry had a nasty feeling was going off to report on him to Filch. So he walked faster in order to avoid a confrontation.

He made it in record time. Patted Hedwig, gave her the letter, and watched her fly off, before power-walking out of the Owlery. He had not even made it twenty meters outside when he bumped into something squishy. His face flamed in horror and embarrassment when he realised the squishy something was Cho. The last two times Harry had spoken to her he had been covered in Mimbulus mimbletonia then Ron had inadvertently embarrassed him with his whole _Tornadoes_ pledge.

"Cho! I didn't see you!" He noticed with horror how strange-pitched his voice sounded.

"It's alright," she said rather breathlessly. "It's as much my fault as yours."

This time Harry made a visible effort to lower his voice. "What are doing up here?" he asked, noting with terror how stupidly deep it was.

"Going to post a letter and parcel," she said matter-of-factly.

Harry could not believe how brainless he felt in that moment. "Yeah," he laughed, "stupid question." He laughed again.

"It's my Mum's birthday, only remembered this morning. So how have you been?"

She wanted to know Harry had been? She cared about him enough to ask? He felt a rush of pleasure swell up in his chest and opened his mouth to answer, but was distracted by a harsh breathing noise. He looked passed Cho, who turned around as well.

Filch the caretaker, along with a bounding Mrs Norris, wheezed up a set of stairs exclaiming "Aha!" when he caught sight of them. His face had purpled with the exertion it must have taken him to run this fast in order to catch Harry (for he had no doubt Filch had been tipped off by Mrs Norris), and his jowls quivered much like a rooster's. He pointed a crooked finger. "I've just had a tip-off that you're intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"

"What?" Harry exclaimed, completely bewildered. "That's not true. Whoever tipped you off must have been lying!" He crossed his arms. "Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?"

"I have my sources," Filch said mysteriously. "Now hand over whatever it is your going to send."

Harry had never felt so much satisfaction as he did in that moment. "I can't, it's gone."

Filch's face showed surprise, as if he couldn't work out how Harry could have already sent a letter when he wasn't in the Owlery. "Gone?" he repeated, his face contorting furiously.

Harry sighed and explained in a dry tone, feeling grateful at the time spent with Elizabeth that enabled him to do so, "I was at the Owlery a few minutes ago where I posted the letter, ergo, it's gone. As is not here. As in clutched in my owl's talons probably flying over Hogsemede."

Cho made a quiet noise in her throat that sounded a lot like laughter. Upon realising this Harry felt his chest balloon. Cho thought him funny. Cho thought him witty.

Filch, however, had now taken on a fish-out-of-water appearance. "How do I know you haven't got it in your pockets?" he asked finally, eyeing Harry's robes.

As much as Harry hated to say it, it was the only way to get Filch off his back, "I suppose you can check them."

The fact that he had answered so fast and so willingly must have thrown Filch off a bit because he straightened up. "You there, girl!" he barked suddenly, pointing at Cho and eyeing the packages in her hands. "Did you see him come from the Owlery?" Evidentially, he wanted to touch Harry as much as Harry wanted to touch him.

"Yes," said Cho coolly. "We accidentally bumped into each other here."

Filche's face purpled even more over that admission. He looked in danger of choking on his own jowls. "Very well. If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb . . ."

He stomped off back down the stairs. Mrs Norris eyed them mistrustfully for a few seconds before she followed her master's path.

Harry turned to Cho. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. He's horrible anyway. . . I guess I better . . ." she lifted her packages in the direction of the Owlery.

Harry blinked. "Oh, right. Have fun owling your mail." He froze in horror, suddenly praying that a stray owl would come flying over and peck out his eyeballs. That would give Cho something else to think about right? Perhaps she would even walk him to the infirmary?

Cho, however, laughed. "You're funny," she said, and Harry did not think she meant in a weird way. He only just managed to stop his chest puffing up. "I'll see you."

"Yeah," and with a smile and a wave he watched Cho walk off, her long black hair shining in the morning light.

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A/N: Oooh! Things are starting to change, slightly. Exciting things to come next chapter.


	15. Something new is happening at Hogwarts

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the owner of Harry Potter, not I. No, certainly not I. (Grumble)

A/N: So so sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but I've got assignments and they come first unfortunately. Plus I have other stories I have to update and it's all a very big mess in my head right now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you to all who reviewed.

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**Chapter Fifteen: Something new is happening at Hogwarts.**

That night, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, went to bed late, and not just because they had spent almost the entire night pouring through Restricted Section books along with Fred, George, and Ginny, (Hermione and Ginny having snuck into the library under Harry's invisibility cloak earlier that night) but because Sirius had visited them through the Gryffindor Common room's fireplace.

Thinking of Sirius made him remember how cold his godfather had been when Harry insisted he not come to Hogwarts, as he'd wanted to do. He'd been most displeased with Harry, but he'd tried not to show it. Nonetheless, Harry still felt guilty.

Ron had conked out as soon as his head touched the pillow and was currently doing his best impression of a lion gone insane with his snoring. As Harry turned down the covers and changed into his pyjamas, he pondered on all he'd experienced that day.

It was true since meeting his sister he'd become more . . . he wasn't sure if 'aggressive' was the right word, but perhaps more 'intuned' and less gullible was a better portrayal. He suddenly found himself channelling the Mad-eye Moody aspect of his personality (an aspect Harry wasn't even sure he'd had up until a couple of months ago) and he found, to his surprise, that he rather enjoyed it.

This morning's incident with Filch proved that. He'd delighted in baiting and most especially, confusing, the slimy caretaker with his banter. And Cho had seemed to like it . . .

Feeling a grin spread on his face Harry got into bed and stared up at the ceiling.

The Filch incident wasn't the only thing unusual that had happened that day. And by unusual Harry meant that Hermione and Sirius had both found it suspicious that Filch had been tipped off anonymously and misleadingly about the Dungbombs Harry had supposedly ordered, a fact that Harry, after having thought it over, agreed with.

No, that hadn't been the only thing. Sturgis Podmore, a wizard of the Order that Harry had met himself over the summer holidays, had been arrested by the Ministry in attempting to break into some important room _in_ the Ministry. They had their first Quidditch practise that day also, and it went amazingly horribly. The Slytherin team, including Malfoy, had shown up and Ron just couldn't seem to block any goals. And to top it all off Percy had written, advising Ron not to associate with Harry anymore and also to drop some not so subtle hints about Umbridge and something that would be happening with her tomorrow. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all agreed that whatever it was couldn't be good.

Yawning, — it was, after all, passed two o'clock in the morning — Harry turned into his pillow and let sleep claim him.

He dreamed of blood.

Spurting blood.

He was back at the graveyard, Cedric lying dead by his feet, Wormtail's harsh breaths sounding close to his ear and a sharp pain as he cut into Harry's arm with a long glinting knife. Suddenly, Harry's arm turned into Harry's hand and Elizabeth stood before him instead of Wormtail, still holding onto the knife.

"It's for your own good, Harry," she said. "For your protection."

"What are you on about?" But Elizabeth only smiled and seized hold of his hand. "What are you doing? NO! Stop!" Harry struggled in her grasp, knowing it was pointless as she was much stronger that he. He looked up into her familiar green eyes — but they weren't familiar anymore. They were red. Red and bloody. Harry screamed as she stabbed the knife in his palm. He tried to breathe. He couldn't breathe! Why couldn't he breathe?

". . . would you stop it! It's only me!"

Harry blinked, coming awake. Letting his eyes focus into the darkness he became aware of two things. One: It was too dark to see anything. Two: Someone was holding on to his mouth, clamping it down with their hand.

"I'm taking you out of here," the voice said. Harry didn't recognise the harsh whisper of it, became panicked, and started thrashing about again in hopes to dislodge the hand so he could scream properly and wake the others. "What are you doing?" it said. "It's Elizabeth!"

Harry's thrashes stopped immediately. His mind had gone completely blank. He watched, as if from afar, as Elizabeth hoisted him off his bed and hugged her too him. She didn't put him down but held him, dangled, from her fist by his shirt front. Then she stepped over to the open window, jumped onto the stone balustrade, walked out onto the outcropping then, with Harry still held tightly in her fist, closed the shutters behind her . . . and stepped of the ledge.

The wind was cold and fierce as it whizzed up Harry's body, blowing under his pyjamas and in passed his hair. A few seconds later, though it seemed a few hours, Elizabeth landed sprightly onto the ground some storeys below with Harry still held in her fist. She put him down gently onto the damp grass then, without waiting for either of them to speak, hugged her to him once more.

Harry just stood there and let himself be hugged. His mind was still on _spin_ and had yet to catch up with his body. When it did his first instinct was to pull away; instead he found himself returning the hug, grudgingly.

"What are you doing here?"

The night was still heavily cloaked in darkness so Harry couldn't see whether he was talking to Elizabeth's face, or Elizabeth's forehead. It also meant he couldn't see her expressions.

"I got your, ah, _kick_," she answered.

For a moment Harry wasn't sure what she was talking about, then remembering, became both agitated and furious once more.

"Yeah? That's good then! I'm glad you saw! I wanted you to see! Spying on me like some sort of . . . spy person! And after you did! Acting like you cared when you really. . ."

There was silence after Harry's outburst. So long in fact that he became mildly uncomfortable. _Wasn't she going to say anything?_ When Elizabeth's voice came it was soft. "What did I do?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know!" Harry fired back at once.

"If you mean your hand—"

"Of course I mean that! What else? Let me guess, you thought I wouldn't figure it out? Well you thought right! I didn't! Hermione did! And she told me!"

"Harry—"

"No! You don't get a say yet!" He waited a bit to make sure she wouldn't interrupt, before continuing, more softly, "I trusted you. You're my sister. You were the only thing that I—" He felt tears in his eyes, but, safe in the knowledge that she probably couldn't see them, continued, "—you were the only person that I really truly cared about, utterly. You have no idea . . . Do you know what's it's like to feel betrayed? I do. I've been betrayed a lot in my life. But never in the magnitude I felt when you did it. Not even when Ron was acting like such a git last year did I feel this horrible."

He waited for her to say something. She didn't

"I just want to know why. Why did you do it? Why did you pretend to care afterward?"

She didn't speak.

"Say something."

He heard her low sigh. "If you want to believe I don't care about you, Harry, I can't stop you from doing that. But know that I'd die for you in the most painful way over and over again for eternity just to stop you from getting a particularly stubborn knot in your hair that you have to yank out . . ."

Harry tried to stop his face from twisting into a smile, but couldn't quite manage it.

". . . You are everything to me. You are my life. You are my blood."

Harry suddenly felt there was something much more important in that sentence then just mere expression of feeling. "So why did you hurt me, then?"

"To protect you."

"Then Hermione was right!" Harry could hear the accusation in his tone.

"Yes, she probably was," Elizabeth said sadly.

They stood in mutual silence for a few minutes. An owl hooted in a nearby tree. A spatter of receding rain caught on the end of his nose. "Why did you do it? Why did you have to protect me? Why did you set up a scene? Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Because, I knew you would protest."

"If your reason was valid—" Harry cut in.

"No, Harry. I know you. You would have protested, because I know how much you love me."

Harry felt heat spread all the way from his chest up onto his face. It was just like Elizabeth to be so blunt. "Go on."

"Wait." He felt her move away from him. "Let's find some place to sit down."

"It's going to take that long?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Quite possibly," she grumbled.

Harry let himself be led around the lake until, reaching the birch tree, they sat down among its soft grass and armchair-like roots. Here, the lake and surroundings were bathed in moonlight and Harry finally got a look at his sister. What he saw bought him up short!

"What in the hell is that!"

Harry couldn't be faulted for swearing, because he never thought he'd be as shocked and horrified as he was in this moment.

Sitting directly in the silver glow of the moon, Elizabeth looked as though she'd stuck her head in a mincer. Two gigantic shiners, one on each eye, adorned her face. Her lip was split, her nose was out of joint, and her hair was dishevelled. It looked like she'd gotten into a fight with a gang of street thugs. _Or a gang of giants._

Her answering smile looked more like a grimace. "Never mind that now—"

"Of course I'll mind that now!" Harry spat. "It's the giants isn't it? They beat you up!"

She looked surprised, then admiring. "Who'd you wangle that info out of? Never mind, do I want to know?" She shook her head. "We'll talk about that later. I promise," she added, seeing Harry open his mouth.

He nodded. He was satisfied with that. "Okay."

"Good." She stretched out her legs in front of her and looked up at the sky. "You wanted to know why I did it. It begins with Hank Summers."

Harry frowned. _Where had he heard that name before?_ "Isn't he one of the Slayers? The one from, erm . . ."

Elizabeth smiled. "Los Angeles. Yes. It was around seven years ago when his daughter, Buffy—" Harry sniggered. Elizabeth noticed and smiled. "—strange name, I know. But, you know Americans . . . anyway, Buffy was seven then, I think, and was walking from school one day with her mother, Joyce. They'd stopped by the side of the road and were about to cross it when Joyce dropped something. A hat, I think it was. Or a jumper. She bent to pick it up, and Buffy, being only a little girl and full of boundless energy, didn't wait for her mother to cross the street, didn't bother looking both ways. She was hit by a truck."

"Oh my God!"

"She would have died. Should have died. Almost did die, but something saved her. Do you know what that was?" She turned to Harry. He shook his head, slowly. "Her father's blood. As she lay dying in the hospital, fighting for her life, her father apparated into the emergency room, stupefied the muggle doctors, and performed a blood transfusion. The girl's condition stabilised to the point where she didn't need a mask to help her breathe. Later he oblivated the doctors and apparated to the American version of St Mungos. That was the first time since he'd married his wife that he'd used so much magic in one day."

"So, so, Buffy, survived because of his blood. Because of his Slayer blood?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes."

"But that still doesn't explain . . . I mean I wasn't dying when you performed, which I now know to be an impromptu blood transfusion, with me. Why did you—?"

"I'm getting to that, babe" she drawled. "Anyway, seven years later I apparate to the Summers' place and Hank tells me something . . . I know you don't know the extent of my powers, Harry, but one of them is sometimes getting visions of the future, in the form of dreams, and we have to learn to interpret those dreams. Which is probably why Slayers get along well with centaurs . . ."

Harry blinked.

"Well, Hank had one such dream of the future, and it told him something spectacular, something that shocked me."

Harry could feel anticipation building. "What was it?"

Elizabeth looked straight into his eyes. "That Buffy would be a Slayer."

Harry knew there was something important he was missing. "But she's his daught-oh! I get it. She's a girl."

"Precisely. She isn't supposed to be a Slayer when Hank dies. Her son is—or her brother, if Hank and Joyce ever decide to have another kid. But something happened when Hank performed that blood transfusion. Something that we, as Slayers, should have predicted, should have guessed at long before then. But who knows, perhaps we had known but the knowledge was lost over the millennia, whatever, it doesn't matter now. Hank wasn't really convinced it would work with a Slayer's relative until that relative was close to death, but I thought I'd try with you anyway."

Harry knew he was still missing something. "But what . . ." His brain froze. The phrase _'When Hank died', _seemed to be the only thing in it now. His head shot up. "Are you planning on dying anytime soon then, Elizabeth!"

She raked a hand through her hair and sighed. "This is precisely why I didn't want to tell you in the first place. I knew you'd take it the wrong way."

"I'm not allowed to care about you now?"

"Make up your mind, babe, really."

Harry was taken aback, but then saw the grin on her lips. He glowered. "So, when, _if_, you die, you think I might be a Slayer?"

"I can hope."

Harry exhaled. This was a lot to take in. "I don't _want_ you to die." He hadn't even known he was going to say it, and so fiercely.

"I know."

"And you don't want me to die either, which is why you did all this. You thought it'd protect me when you're not here anymore."

"Yes."

"But you're not even sure if it might work?"

"No."

Harry gritted his teeth, growled, "Why are you being so monosyllabic?"

She stared at him incredulously, then burst out laughing. "Have you been hanging around Hermione too much?"

"Contrary to Snape's belief, I'm not stupid," Harry said stiffly, though inside he was pleased to have gotten her laughing. He suddenly wondered when he'd actually stopped being furious with her.

Elizabeth stopped after a minute or so, still holding her stomach. "Ah, I haven't laughed like that in, well, a week."

She looked at him and Harry exhaled air in surprise.

The bruises on her face were gone. Or almost gone. Her left eye was currently a faint yellow and purple, but other than that, everything was as it should be.

Elizabeth noticed his shock, touched her face tentatively. "Yeah, I know. I heal very fast."

"But why did you have to heal?" he asked angrily. "And that's not very fast either, in my experience. I've seen you heal much faster than that. I thought Slayers healed straight away."

"Not if a strong magical creature, like a giant for instance, were to hit us. It takes longer then."

Harry thought over something. "But doesn't this mean that you were fighting giants right before you came to me tonight?" She looked apprehensive. "Remember you promised you'd tell me!"

"All right, all right. Impatience: thy name is boy," she breathed. "Okay. As you no doubt know from a source we'll leave anonymous for now . . . woof woof." Harry looked at her in amazement, but she didn't notice. "I went to find the giants to get them to support Dumbledore, along with Hagrid and Olympe—"

"That name sounds very familiar," Harry injected.

"No doubt. You'd know her as Madame Maxime."

Harry wasn't surprised. "She went with you too then. Of course. Dumbledore said in the infirmary last June, that Hagrid was to find Madame Maxime . . . but how did you find them? They were on their mission already weren't they?"

"I'm a Slayer, Harry," was all she said, and he knew that meant she could sense them because they were half giants.

"Go on."

"Well I found them, and . . . I'll let Hagrid tell you the details about that particular adventure. We crossed country on foot, eventually found the giants, and for a while it seemed like we were really making progress, but then a new Gurg, that's a leader of the Giants," she explained, to Harry's confused look, "rose up in the night. There'd been a mutiny. But this new Gurg didn't like us much, and, well, tried to kill us . . ."

Harry was too surprised and too awed already to feel anything about that. "Is that where you, got hurt? And how did you escape? Did Hagrid escape? What about Maxime?"

Elizabeth frowned, probably thinking which question to answer first. "No, that happened tonight. When I got hurt, I mean. We'd gone looking for all those giants that weren't supporters of the new Gurg. Found them all, or should I say all three, squished into a large cave, no room for even breathing, but they were scared for their lives. I talked to them—"

"You talked to them!"

"Well one of them knew a bit of English, but I know a lot of Giant. I fight giants nearly all the time, after all."

Harry blinked, said flatly, "You can speak Giant."

"Not fluently," she admitted, frowning a little.

"Oh."

"Anyway, they seemed interested in what we had to say, but, a bit apprehensive as you can imagine. Hagrid and Olympe left after we talked a bit with them, but I decided to stay . . ."

"One question." She looked up at him. Her face was completely hurt free now. "Did the Giants know what you are?"

"That I'm a Slayer?"

He nodded.

"Not really . . . Let's just say they knew I was different. Anyway, I stayed with the three, whom I unconsciously named The Three Stooges for some really weird reason . . ." Harry grinned. "And that night, which was tonight, other giants, supporters of the new Gurg, came looking for them. To kill."

"You fought them," Harry guessed. "How many were there?"

"Too many. Too many for me on my own." She noticed his look. "There were six. But don't worry, babe, I got out of there alive."

"How many did you kill? Or did you kill any at all?"

"Some were killed; it's unavoidable when messing with a brassed off Slayer."

Harry grinned at her grumble, suddenly feeling very proud of his sister. "What did you say to them when they came? You had to have said something."

"I walked out of the cave to meet them." There was a shrug in her voice.

"Just like that? You walked out to meet six giants that you knew had killing on their minds?"

"Sure." Again, the shrug.

"You must have used your magic," Harry speculated, suspicious.

She grinned slowly. "Of course I used magic, I'd be dead otherwise."

"But I thought you had, you know, super-speed," he said, thinking back to her injuries. "How could they hit you? They shouldn't have been able to hit you. I mean, couldn't you dodge?"

"Super-speed is all well and good when you want to run away from something, but I didn't. I wanted to stand and fight. And there were six of them. And I was in the middle. I don't have eyes in the back of my head. Plus giants are pretty fast themselves . . . And I did dodge, thank you very much, Harry Potter."

"You were in the middle?" Harry couldn't keep the disbelief, worry, and shock out of his voice.

She rolled her eyes, exhaled, and threw him an exasperated look.

"Sorry," he grumbled. "I worry about you. What happened to the three giants you were protecting?"

"They survived. Barely. I'll let Hagrid tell you that story. In the meantime, what's been happening here?"

He blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but realised there wasn't anything more to say about the giants. "Umbridge," he groaned.

Her eyes flicked between his. "Umbridge. That name sounds familiar."

"She used to work at the Ministry, but now she's Defence teacher at Hogwarts." Harry suddenly found himself telling her everything. From the lies the Prophet printed about him, to everyone at Hogwarts thinking him a liar, to Seamus and his mother, his feelings for Cho, the animagus research. _Sorry Hermione_, he thought. His unfair detentions, and finally—"

"What do you mean she used a blood quill on you?"

Harry jumped at the vicious tone in her voice.

"Give me your hand!" she said briskly and Harry handed it over. Sucking in a breath, she spat, "That bitch!"

Harry nodded vigorously.

Her hand reached over and cupped his face. "Don't worry, Harry. Tomorrow she's going to wish she'd never got out of bed."

"What are you going to do?" He couldn't stop the grin in his voice.

"Something inventive. And you won't have to go to your second bout of detentions either."

"What _are_ you going to do?"

"Don't worry your pretty eyes over that."

"If I ever worry about Umbridge, it'll be how she has to die," he said nastily, but Elizabeth only smiled.

They leaned back against the tree, staring across the lake, which was already becoming clearer to see as dawn was not too far away.

"So you've started researching to become an animagus, have you?" Harry flushed suddenly. Elizabeth noticed. "I wasn't supposed to know, was I?" she said blandly.

"We were going to keep it a secret," he admitted, "but I wanted to tell you."

"You say you're having troubles searching for a particular ingredient. Brillog-something . . ."

"_Brillogsapor Clanniria_. Yeah, we can't seem to find it anywhere. We looked in all the books at Grimmauld Place. And now we're going through the Restricted Section of the Library, illegally."

"Hmm. Has it occurred to you that after the Marauders' exploits McGonagall or Dumbledore removed all the animagus books out of the library, to prevent certain students from getting tempted?"

Harry blinked. "Oh bollocks! If that's true we've been searching blindly for no reason!"

"Well I never claimed to know if they actually did do that, but its best to explore all options. But it doesn't matter anyway. I know someone who's an illegal animagus, and he might be able to help—"

"Sirius doesn't count, Elizabeth," he said flatly. "We weren't planning on telling him, even though I wanted to."

"Maybe after you've finished the transformation? But I wasn't talking about Sirius. Mabani, you know, the old eccentric Slayer, he's an unregistered animagus too."

Something niggled on Harry's thoughts upon hearing that; something that seemed like it should be really important. "Erm, yeah, isn't he the one that lives in the jungle?"

"Yep. He's also the one who smokes a lot. I still swear that powder he gave you is something illegal."

Harry sat up. _Something illegal_. "The _powder_! I'd forgotten all about that! Elizabeth, what exactly did he tell you when he gave you the powder?"

She looked perplexed. "Um, only that you'd know what to do with it. You can't be thinking . . . ?" She looked at his grinning face. "Okay you are thinking that. And I do recall him using Legilimens on me, which could be the reason how he knew you might be attempting to become an animgaus as he would have seen that I gave you the book for your birthday. That sneaky old . . . so and so!"

"But this is excellent! That powder is the ingredient we've been looking for!"

"Alright, no need to get so happy," she grumbled.

He looked at her askance. She should be feeling happy that he was happy. "What's got you so grumpy?"

"I got played, that's what. Ooooh! Just wait till I see him again. But seriously now, don't get too pleased, Harry. You still have to find out what it does, and how to use it, and the amount you have to use, etcetera and so forth."

"Yes, but now that we know what it is it should be easier to find."

She shrugged. "Alright, whatever. It's your adventure, not mine." She checked the watch on her wrist. "Damn Buggers! I forgot electronics don't work in Hogwarts. Oh it doesn't matter, the sun's almost out and it's time for you to go back to bed anyway. Have at least a couple hours sleep until classes start."

They stood up, stretched, and walked back around the lake in a leisurely silence. When they reached Hogwarts Castle Elizabeth stopped and Harry followed. She looked up. "What would you prefer? Levitation or, erm, jumping?"

Harry grinned. "I think I'll stick with levitation." He wasn't keen on jumping _up_ to a window some storeys above the ground as it was rather small and Elizabeth could miss.

Elizabeth must have known what Harry was thinking because she drawled, "Afraid I'm gonna skip the ledge and we'll be forced to fall to our doom, are you?" At Harry's blush, she shrugged dismissively. "It won't matter anyway. It's not like we'd die if that happened. But, I'll adhere to your wishes and levitate you up. But first come here so I can say goodbye properly."

He didn't waste a second but embraced her, breathing in her familiar fruity scent. He didn't care if it made him look like a five-year-old; there was no one around to see anyway. Besides, he didn't know when he would see her again. "Where are you going now?" He mumbled against her shoulder.

"I assume you mean after I deal with Umbridge? Back to the giants. We're still not giving up. Besides I think Hagrid wants to do something . . . never mind." She drew back to look at him. "After that I think I might go to Grimmauld place and keep old Padfoot company."

"You mean annoy him?" Harry guessed shrewdly.

She grinned. "That too."

They looked at each other. Harry decided to try his luck while she was in such a mellow mood and ask about the missions Dumbledore sent her on. "What other stuff do you do for the Order?"

She blinked at him. "That was a bit out of the blue wasn't it?"

"I want to know," Harry insisted, perfectly reasonably in his opinion.

"Do you now? Oh alright. I suppose there isn't any harm."

Harry couldn't believe she'd given in so easily. "Why are you so keen on telling me? And isn't it supposed to be a secret?"

She wrinkled her nose, looking confused and bemused. "Do you want to know or what?"

"Yes!" he answered quickly, knowing he'd almost put his foot in it.

"Okay then. It's because nothing came of it, that's why. Dumbledore sent me on this task the night before you lot were supposed to leave for Hogwarts, because he knew the good relations Slayers have with other creatures of light."

"Don't tell me he asked you to recruit unicorns or something?"

She snorted. "No, but your damned close, sort of. It was centaurs." She saw the surprise on his face. "The ones in the Forbidden Forest, yeah," she answered without his having to ask. "Some seemed interested, I even made a friend. Firenze. And let me tell you I can spend the rest of my days just staring at him . . ." She trailed off on the look of shocked amazement on Harry's face. "Hem, anyway, the majority just wanted to be left alone, but they made a point of telling me to come visit any time. Seems they make exceptions for Slayers, unicorns, and other light creatures."

"Right. So that was the 'unconstructive mission' you were shouting about when I came to wake you up that morning."

She went red. "I'm grumpy when woken up by little brat brothers."

Harry only smiled. "You know you love me."

Tears filled her eyes at that, and he almost drew back in alarm. "Oh go on with you," she sniffled.

He kissed her cheek. "Don't be sad Elizabeth, I'll see you again at Christmas break," he promised, and spread his arms wide. "Now lift me up!"

She laughed. "All right, all right, babe." She whipped out her wand. "Say hi from me to your friends!" she shouted as Harry rocketed skywards.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning Harry was shaken awake by Ron, who'd already put his clothes on. He commented that Hermione and Ginny were waiting for them in the common room.

"That's good, because I have something to tell you guys," Harry said between yawns, and Ron just looked at him.

"Tell us on the way down to breakfast," he said, chucking a sock at Harry's head.

But Harry didn't get a chance to tell them on the way down to breakfast because a chattering crowd of Gryffindors, also on their way down to breakfast, encompassed them. Instead they speculated about what new dastardly thing Umbridge was to be doing at Hogwarts, and what Percy's role in it all was.

None of their speculations were very serious. Ron's suggestion that she was to replace Madam Pince in the library was met with disbelieving snorts, whilst Ginny thought she might finally have decided to quit and brought Professor Lupin back to teach in her stead. Strangely, that suggestion was taken more seriously than Ron's.

"It's fun to hope," Ginny had said, to Hermione's snort.

At last they arrived at the Great Hall where Harry was free to tell them about Elizabeth's visit last night.

Ron spewed a mouthful of pumpkin juice across the table at hearing that. "She was in our dorm?" was all he could shout.

"Yes, and that's not the best part . . . shouldn't we wait for Fred and George?"

Ginny flapped a hand. "We can tell them later. Besides, Lee'd be with them anyway. What I want to know is how she managed to come inside our common room? She doesn't know the password. Or did you tell her, Harry?"

"No I didn't. She used her broom," he answered. He couldn't very well tell her that Elizabeth had jumped up through the window. Ginny didn't know the truth about her after all. "Anyway, I figured out what _Brillogsapor_ _Clannira_ is."

This time it was Hermione who almost sprayed. She stopped herself in time and choked on a piece of egg. "How did you manage to do that?" She sounded suspicious, as if she couldn't quite believe that Harry had managed to work out what it was all by himself.

"Well I didn't exactly figure it out, but I did one thing better. I remembered."

Hermione frowned. "What are you—?"

"You know that souvenir Elizabeth brought me from Africa?" Ron, Hermione, and Ginny nodded. "It turns out that the powder in the barrel is the missing ingredient."

"Harry, that, that's fantastic!" Hermione gushed. "Do you realise this means we won't have to go search for it and dig it up or whatever! It saved us so much time! And Elizabeth knew, didn't she? What am I saying, she must have known! She gave it to you after all." Harry took a sip of coffee so as not to answer that, but Hermione still looked disconcerted. "I suppose then, she must have known you would have started researching. Oh well, there's nothing we can do about it now. But how did you work out that the powder was the ingredient?"

"Oh," Harry thought quickly, "just something Elizabeth mentioned. It struck a chord."

Hermione seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to scooping egg in her mouth.

The breakfast owls arrived not too long after and they finally found out what the whole business with Umbridge was.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect the other teachers!" Hermione spat after reading out the article to them. She was breathing fast and her eyes were very bright. "I can't believe this. It's _outrageous_!"

"I know it is," Harry said, glancing down at the faint outline of words on his right hand.

Ron, however, grinned.

"What are you so happy about?" Ginny asked. But what Ron was so happy about they never found out. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, the twins' best friend, plonked down next to them looking positively gleeful.

"Is everyone happy today? What's going on with you lot?" Ginny asked them, substituting Ron.

Fred lowered his voice. "Umbridge. She's gone and had a tantrum."

Pause. "What!" They all asked.

Harry looked up at the teachers' table and noted that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Umbridge were absent. It had to be something to do with Elizabeth, Harry thought astutely. "What's happened?"

"We don't know," Lee said, leaning forward. "But the rumour is that she woke up this morning, went to her office, and started yelling. Showed up in Dumbledore's office to complain even. Rumour has it Fudge is even coming. Something about sabotage."

"It's Elizabeth," Harry mumbled. Everyone besides Lee looked sharply at him; because he didn't know Elizabeth, but mostly perhaps because he was looking the other way.

"Don't look now, but it's McGonagall."

Harry didn't even have a chance to glance around before: "Potter!" Harry's transfiguration Professor strode briskly up the Gryffindor table.

She came to a stop before him. Hands folded sharply in front of her.

Harry found he wasn't really surprised to see her there. "Yes, Professor?"

"The Headmaster would like to see you, Potter. No leave your things, you're friends can carry them for you to your next class. I doubt Professor Dumbledore will want to keep you for a very long time. There's no proof either way . . ." Her brow creased in irritation. "Follow me!"

Exchanging resigned looks with those closest to him Harry stood and followed McGonagall out of the hall and along the corridors, ignoring the whispers of the students' about him. There was no doubt in his mind now that whatever Elizabeth had done Umbridge had somehow found a way to blame him. It didn't matter anyway. They had no proof that he'd done . . . whatever it was he was supposed to have done.

_But what _had_ Elizabeth done? _

Harry hurried after McGonagall, which wasn't nearly so hard to do now that he was of a height comparable to hers. He was beyond curious now, though he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to ask his transfiguration professor. If he was right about all this being Elizabeth's doing he'd find out soon enough anyway.

" . . . It's Harry Potter, I know it is!" Harry could hear Umbridge shout as they approached her office. "Somehow he found out about my new position and deigned to sabotage me!" There were a few angry breaths.

"If you would tell my why you think Mr Potter had anything to do with this, Delores, then I shall be very much inclined to hear your side of the tale, as it were. But since you refuse to say anything of the kind, I'm afraid that for now Mrs Potter has abstinence. And sit down please, my dear Professor. I'll draw you a cup of tea."

"No I don't think I will, Dumbledore! That boy has had it in for me since I started teaching here at Hogwarts. Why, all the detentions he's managed to accumulate should tell you something about that!"

"Of course," Dumbledore said quietly, "there are ways to check—Ah, Professor McGonagall . . . and Harry. So good of you to join us!" Dumbledore made it sound as though he and McGonagall had just arrived at a tea party via invitation from the headmaster himself.

But the room was certainly not fit to host a tea party in. Or anything for that matter. It was complete chaos. The desk Harry had so often been forced to write on was now crumpled against the far left wall, broken in two, and its legs were twisted and bent, as though someone had thrown it against the wall. In fact, a deep spider-webbed dent sitting about two meters above proved that theory. Bits of wall had even crumbled onto the desk and surrounded it in a fine layer of dust and small chunks of debris.

Other items of furniture seemed to have gone the same route. Cabinets were broken in half and bent, chairs were completely splintered, important looking parchments were strewn everywhere and some looked as though they'd been put in a food processor. The large pot plant that used to be in the corner was now half sticking out of the floor like someone very strong had pushed it into the concrete. Even the window was smashed.

_Must have been how Elizabeth got in_, thought Harry. It took considerable effort on his part not to grin like an idiot.

But the focal point of the room had to be the blood quill floating directly in the centre, broken in half, with the words "IF YOU USE THIS ON ANOTHER STUDENT, I WILL KILL YOU" written under it in much the same way the memory of Tom Riddle had done down in the Chamber of Secrets three years ago. Harry had to admit that if he was Umbridge — a horrid thought — he'd be deeply distressed. The whole incident looked like a scene from a muggle horror movie.

"We were just discussing—" Dumbledore began, but stopped abruptly. He'd stopped because Umbridge's so often heard "_Hem hem_," had interrupted him.

The headmaster blinked and turned to the direction of the sound. Harry clenched his fist. Umbridge hadn't stopped looking at him since he'd walked in. Her look suggested she'd like murder him sometime in the near future.

"I was wondering, Headmaster," she said in her simpering girlish voice, "if I could be permitted to question Mr Potter, as he was the one most likely to be responsible for all this." The tone in her voice had started off nice and friendly, but finished like she had a frog stuck in her throat.

Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Innocent until proven guilty, Delores. And again, I shall ask you, why you believe Mr Potter to be responsible?" His voice was polite but everyone could hear the underlying warning in it.

Umbridge's gaze flitted to Harry, and he stared back. They both knew why she thought Harry to be the one to have done it, but she couldn't very well say why, not in front of Dumbledore. Admitting that Harry wanted revenge because she'd used a blood quill on him would not go down well with her or her boss. And any other excuse she used, such as saying Harry had it in for the Ministry or Harry was mentally disturbed, just wouldn't cut it. It was too weak, and certainly didn't warrant an attack of this sort on her office. Merlin, but it felt good to hold this over her ugly head. For the thousandth time he thanked God for bringing Elizabeth into his life.

"In that case," Dumbledore continued cheerfully, obviously interpreting Umbridge's silence as not having sufficient proof, "I believe I shall get on with the questioning. Now, Harry, you are no doubt aware as to why you are here?"

"I think it's something to do Professor Umbridge's office, sir."

Dumbledore's lip tweaked. "Quite right! Now, I will ask you: Did you sneak into Professor Umbridge's office sometime between eleven o'clock last night and seven this morning, to, for lack of a better word, trash it?"

Harry stared at the toad woman. "No, sir."

"Did you write this message using your wand—" Dumbledore gestured to the scarlet lettering in mid-air "—which threatens Professor Umbridge's life, in an attempt to frighten her into leaving Hogwarts?"

"No, sir."

Umbridge was trembling with anger. "He's lying, Headmaster!"

"I do not believe so, Delores," Dumbledore said quietly.

Umbridge's stared at him, face turning blank, lips compressing. She looked in danger of blowing up from the inside. "What exactly do you mean, Dumbledore, the boy is clearly guil—"

"I mean that no student below sixth year could've possibly lifted your desk and thrown it against the opposite wall. They do not have the knowledge, or the magical power, do to so. However, if you prefer, I will allow Mr Potter's wand to be thoroughly looked over, and if it coincides with the magical signature found in this room, then, Mr Potter is guilty. But not before."

"I have no problem with that," Harry said when Umbridge started to look gleeful. Her face fell abruptly. _Ha, take that you slimy toad! _The fact that Harry was so eager to have his wand checked must have thrown her.She wasn't looking so confident now.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said when Harry gave him his wand. "Delores, if you will."

Umbridge looked sour but she whipped out her wand and flicked it over Harry's. A tiny puff of gold and scarlet smoke, distinctly lightening-bolt shaped, appeared out of his wand. Umbridge took a moment to glance at Harry before she flicked her wand in front of the writing in the air.

For a split second Harry got a fright because gold and scarlet smoke also appeared, and he hoped it was only because Elizabeth was family, but the smoke changed in the last second and became completely white. An indistinctive shape appeared, rather like five people all compressed together with arms, legs, and heads being the only clear thing to see.

Everyone stared at it.

"I think this proves that Potter wasn't the culprit!" McGonagall said, hand on Harry's shoulder. "You should go to class now anyway, Potter. I'll walk you there. I must speak with Professor Binns as it is. Rest assured, Delores, that Professor Dumbledore and I will do everything in our power to find the _real_ culprit. Good day."

Umbridge looked deeply hateful as she watched Harry walk out with McGonagall. The last thing he heard before McGonagall closed the door was Dumbledore saying, "Now that we have ascertained Mr Potter is not responsible, would you mind explaining to me the meaning of this message, Delores?"

Barely refraining from laughing outright Harry followed his transfiguration Professor along the corridor.

As soon as she and Harry arrived at the second corridor McGonagall stopped. "Both the Headmaster and myself know that it was Elizabeth, Potter." His mouth opened. "I don't know how she managed to gain access to Professor Umbridge's office let alone Hogwarts itself, and no I don't think it was a broom. But I also know she came to visit you last night. She came to visit the Headmaster early this morning also, right before meeting you I believe."

There was something in McGonagall's eyes that made Harry think that, despite putting on a disproving front, she was rather pleased with the havoc Elizabeth had caused in Umbridge's office.

"Did she tell you she would be doing this?"

"Not directly, no," Harry admitted. "She only told me she'd be doing something."

McGonagall stared at him, then sniffed. "Well you can tell her thank you from me. Don't look so surprised, Potter. I never speak ill of my colleagues, and this is no exception, but I do, on occasion, in_directly_ speak ill of them."

They exchanged smiles and, without another word, continued down the hall.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. I think you know what the white smoke represents. Tell me what you think of this chapter and press the little review button.


	16. Curious Incidents

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. All I own is Elizabeth, and a bit of the plot.

A/N: To answer the question I put forth at the end of the last chapter: I have given many small hints about the powers of the Slayers. If you go back to Slayers Part 2 you will notice something about what Elizabeth feels. All the Slayers are connected. When Umbridge swished her wand over the writing in the air she was seeing the Slayers' essences.

Thank you very much to those who reviewed. I'm sorry I didn't get this out sooner. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long.

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**Chapter sixteen: Curious Incidents.**

Harry had missed a bit of potions, but because he'd turned up with a specially signed note by McGonagall Snape couldn't deduct points or give him a detention. He wished now that he hadn't had to go to potions at all. He always ended up being disappointed by something. Or frustrated. Or furious.

And Hermione was _still_ going on about the moonstone essay.

"I mean, obviously I'd have been _thrilled_ if I'd got an 'O' ―"

"So would we," Ron spat before turning to Harry, leaving Hermione gaping disappointedly, and Fred, George and Lee sniggering into their pumpkin juice.

"So what did McGonagall want?"

All talks of moonstone essays and OWL grades were put to the side as everyone stared at Harry expectantly. _Why did you have to ask me that now?_ he thought irritably at Ron. Ron, of course, couldn't hear him.

"Someone," Harry began, emphasising the word so Ron, Hermione, and Fred and George would understand who he was talking about, "trashed Umbridge's office this morning."

"Wicked!" Ron said immediately. It was followed quickly by Lee's "whoop" and the twins' grins.

Hermione gave them a dark look. "It is not wicked. Obviously, Harry was blamed for it!"

They looked contrite. Fred quickly recovered. "Expand on 'trashed' for us, would you?"

"It looked as though a giant had stomped through it," said Harry, beginning to warm as he reminisced. "There were holes in the walls as big as me. The pot plant was sticking out of the concrete. All the furniture was broken. The window was smashed. The cupboards were bent and twisted, like a pipe cleaner . . ."

Ron and Hermione were wide-eyed. They were the only ones who knew the real truth about Elizabeth, but they mustn't have known what a Slayer was capable of until this moment. Fred and George, however, grinned. "I wonder how she managed to do that, let alone get access to Hogwarts."

"Who?" asked Lee.

"Harry's cousin," George replied smoothly. "She's very protective of him, you know. He must've told her about Umbridge. She must've come here in retribution or something. That right?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Despite that satisfying explanation, the rest of the day did not go all that well. Umbridge turned up in Divination and would not leave Professor Trelawney alone, trailing after her with a clipboard and quill in hand and scribbling furiously whenever the professor replied to a question. She would also cast dark glances in his direction. Overall, Harry and Ron did not think Umbridge had been very impressed with Divination, or Trelawney.

Defence against the Dark Arts was horrible as always. When Umbridge took five points from Gryffindor because Hermione had dared to criticise the Ministry assigned textbook Harry became furious, though still did not try to follow up on his murderous thoughts. But it was Umbridge's, "Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them – with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects – would have passed a Ministry inspection" that really got Harry riled. He almost, almost responded (Hermione even nudged his ribs so hard with her elbow that he was sure he'd still have the bruise a week later), but didn't, because the thought of Umbridge's rage-filled face that morning after Elizabeth's little foray into her office kept him grounded. He felt comforted at the thought that if ever he felt like telling the toad off, all he'd have to do was think of that.

xxxx

When Harry entered Umbridge's office that night for his second week of detention it was to find that everything had been put back to the way it was before – with the exception of the broken quill and foot-high scarlet writing, which still hung ominously in the air in the middle of the room. Trying not to snort with laughter, he sat down in his usual spot in front of Umbrige's desk. Not giving her a chance to say anything Harry picked up the quill, dipped it into the inkwell – he almost laughed again – and began writing, _I must not tell lies._

It was _supremely_ satisfying, even if Umbridge had not stopped glaring at him since he'd walked through the door, in fact, she hadn't even moved. She kept him long after midnight, and when one o'clock finally rolled around Harry's hand was cramping. If not with the blood quill — which was still hanging lopsidedly in the air next to the writing ― then she had to get him back somehow, he supposed.

xxxx

The next morning stretched along perceptibly. Harry had the brief thought that he'd actually manage to have detention the night before, despite Elizabeth's assurances that he wouldn't have to. He wasn't worried, though, because he was still too pleased with what his sister had done already. Perhaps she had just forgotten?

"Wonder where she is," Ron said, talking around a mouthful of cornflakes.

Harry didn't need Ron's pointed staring in the direction of the faculty table to tell him who he was talking about.

Umbridge was not sitting with the other teachers this morning. He shrugged. "Maybe she slept in."

"Maybe she died," Ron said hopefully.

"I wish."

"You two are horrible," Hermione reprimanded half-heartedly. Then she smiled. "But I wish that, too."

Ron and Harry grinned.

The rest of the day went by much faster than the morning had. Professor McGonagall taught them to vanish mice, and in Care of Magical Creatures they tried to subdue Bowtruckles by offering them woodlice for an appetiser. The only strange thing that happened was Professor Grubbly-plank looking a bit distracted and not nearly as cheery as she usually did. She kept glancing behind the path they'd all come down on, as though expecting someone to turn up on it.

By the time dinner arrived Umbridge still hadn't shown. Ginny was quick to tell them that she had also missed Defence lessons with the fourth years before lunch.

"We all just sat around playing hangman in the corners of our parchments," she said to Ron's query. "After thirty minutes we up and left. It was obvious she wasn't going to show. I mean there wasn't a note, but it's not like anyone wanted to stay."

"Well she's not here now either," Harry said, looking towards the head table. "And neither is Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Snape."

They looked at each other. "You don't think something Elizabeth did is having a delayed reaction?" Hermione speculated.

Harry grinned suddenly. "I do! Perhaps I'll find out now. I'm supposed to have detention tonight."

Ron looked envious. "I wish I had detention."

Stuffing a last spoonful of trifle into his mouth, Harry bade his friends goodbye and made his way to Umbridge's office.

The door was closed when he got there. He knocked politely. Seconds later it was opened half-way by McGonagall.

When she saw him her eyebrows arched. "Potter," she greeted, "what are you doing here?"

"I have detention, Professor," he told her, trying to look as though he wasn't peering into the room through the gap between her elbow and side. "Remember?"

Her eyes closed. "Yes, I do. Another four days isn't it? Including tonight?" At Harry's nod, she added, "Well it's cancelled now. You can come back tomorrow."

"Cancelled?"

"Professor Umbridge is . . .ill," she grimaced. "Run along to your dormitory now."

But Harry didn't. "How is she ill?"

She frowned. "No questions, Potter!"

"It's only that, well Elizabeth told me something like this might happen."

As McGonagall's nostrils widened Harry couldn't, for the life of him, work out why he'd just admitted to that, but he was desperately curious. How had Elizabeth made Umbridge ill?

"Are you telling me that you knew something like this might happen? And didn't inform myself or the headmaster?"

_Something like what?_ "I still don't know what she did, Professor. She just told me she'd be ―" he just stopped himself from saying 'stopping Umbridge from ever giving anyone detention again', and finished instead with "― doing something extra."

McGonagall sighed. "I suppose I can't blame you for this, and I certainly can't give Elizabeth detention." Then she smiled. "You will remember to thank her from me, won't you?"

At that, Harry knew that whatever Elizabeth had cursed Umbridge with couldn't be that serious. "Of course."

"You should go now, Potter."

As McGonagall closed the door Harry turned ―only to bump into someone. A long bearded someone. He jumped back.

"Harry," greeted Dumbledore, looking amused. Behind him stood Snape carrying a small brown sack. He was scowling, but that wasn't uncommon. "I trust you know that your detention has been cancelled."

"I do now."

"Wonderful. I shall see you in my office tomorrow afternoon, then. For the moment, I believe Gryffindor tower is waiting for you."

Harry nodded, "Good night, sir." He didn't acknowledge Snape, but then Snape didn't acknowledge him, except to sneer even more fiercely as Harry walked past.

He didn't have to wonder why Dumbledore had invited him to his office, either. Harry suspected it had everything to do with his sister. But then, Elizabeth was Dumbledore's 'niece'. Surely, he wouldn't want to speak to Harry about wanting to tell her off.

When he entered the portrait hole a little while later it was to find the four Weasley's and Hermione already seated on the two sofas by the fire, chatting excitedly. A pile of books hung precariously at the end of the little table while a large piece of parchment was spread out in the middle. Hermione was scribbling extremely fast on it.

Harry sat down beside her.

"We found it!" she said, surprising him.

He was a little disappointed that she hadn't questioned him about Umbridge. But then what she'd said suddenly registered. "That's brilliant," he praised, and by the way Hermione straightened up he was sure that by 'we' she'd meant 'I'. "How did you find it?"

George snorted. "Wasn't even in the Restricted Section."

"Neville was looking through some books for Herbology. Hermione happened to walk past and stare over his shoulder. Low and behold . . ."

"Shut up," she snapped at Ron. "How was I to know that it's an ordinary plant used in Dreamless Sleep potion? That's NEWT level."

"Surprised you hadn't studied in advance," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"What does it do?" Harry queried.

"Its purpose is . . . well think of muggle drugs. It's got hallucinogenic properties. Its purpose, when mixed with other ingredients in the draught, is to put you in a sort of trance. You should know then, instinctively, or by smell and feel or whatever, what animal you're supposed to be turning in to." She looked thoughtful. "I suppose when it's used in Dreamless Sleep its effects are sort of counteracted due to some of the more potent ingredients, otherwise the potion wouldn't be called '_Dreamless_ Sleep' would it?"

"Now all we have to do is find the other ingredients, right? Then we can make the potion," Harry stated, his stomach jumping at the thought.

"Exactly."

"How did it go with Umbridge, by the way?" Ginny asked.

Everyone looked up.

"Have no idea what happened to her. McGonagall told me she was ill, but I think she was lying. Dumbledore asked me to come to his office tomorrow, though."

They all looked thoughtful at that.

"Well," Fred said at last, "as long as the old toad is feeling _something_ unpleasant, then I can live with that." He grinned. "You have got _the_ coolest sister, Harry."

"You have no idea," Ron snorted.

Hermione, smiling tightly, patted him hard on the back.

After that they discussed who would be obtaining what ingredients. Most of them were readily available at apothecaries or at the student stalls down in the dungeon, so the girls would be charged with getting them. Unfortunately, only some of them could be found in Snape's private stock. Ron volunteered to get those, but Fred and George cut him off. "We can sneak around a lot better than you can little brother. Just leave it to us."

"What prank have you got planned?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing big," they assured, "just something that'll irate Snape long enough for him to go away and deal with it so we can nip into his office. We'll set fire to one of his students, that ought to keep him busy."

Ron recommended Crabbe. "That way no one can be blamed," he explained. "They'll just think he did it himself. He's thick enough."

Fred and George looked rather impressed with his reasoning.

The rest of the ingredients, Hermione told them matter-of-factly, could be found in Knockturn Alley or somewhere equally dark and slimy. "Of course, they _are_ available at the Ministry, but I don't think Fudge'd appreciate a bunch of Hogwarts' students rummaging around in his secret rooms, especially if one of them is Harry Potter. It'll have to be Knockturn Alley. And seeing as Harry is the only one who's been there, I think he should be the one to go."

"I'm going too," Ron said determinedly.

"Of course you're going. It's too dangerous to go alone," said Hermione. She looked between them. "You'll have to bring the invisibility cloak."

"So when d'you expect us to go then? Christmas hols?"

Hermione frowned. "I, I don't really know. I suppose that'll be all right."

Harry shook his head. "No, it won't. We'll all be separated for Christmas. You three will be at the Burrow, and Hermione, you'll be with your parents. And I'll be alternating between Surrey and Grimmauld place if I don't end up staying at Hogwarts. There's no way the Order will let me go out then, not to mention Elizabeth. As overprotective as she is, even if I do manage to convince her to let me go to Diagon Alley, she won't let me out of her sight." He bit his lip. They did not need to know that Elizabeth knew they were making the potion. He supposed he could just ask her to get him the ingredients, but Harry didn't want that. He wanted to do it himself. Like his father had. "It'll have to be on the next Hogsmede weekend," he said finally. "We can floo out using the fireplace at The Three Broomsticks."

"That's actually a good idea," Hermione complimented, but she looked a little uneasy.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, concerned. In fact, he noticed that everyone had gone a little uneasy. "What's going on?"

"Well, you see, Harry, we were actually hoping to do something at Hogsmede then," Hermione admitted.

Harry couldn't believe it. "What's more important than this?"

"Well Ron and I had the idea ― I mean _I_ had the idea," she corrected at Ron's furious glare, "to, er, to hold a meeting there."

"Meeting?" Harry parroted. "What sort of meeting?"

"Oh for goodness sake, you two," Ginny burst out. "We want you to teach Defence, Harry."

There was silence.

Ron and Hermione were avoiding his eyes, but everyone else was looking at him hopefully.

Harry, however, had no idea what Ginny meant.

"What?" he finally said.

"We want you to teach Defence," said George. "We want to have a sort of Defence Against the Dark Arts club with you as the teacher."

"What d'you mean, 'me as the teacher'? And what club?"

Hermione looked timid, a rare thing. "You can't not have noticed how horrible our Defence classes are."

"That goes without saying, Hermione," said Harry dryly. "What I don't get is, why do you want _me_ to teach this Defence club thing? I'm no teacher. I don't know anything."

"Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, looking disbelievingly at him. "Possibly the school."

"No I'm not," Harry laughed, now certain that this was huge joke, "you've beaten me in every test –"

"Actually, I haven't," said Hermione coolly. "You beat me in our third year ― the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've _done_!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to everyone, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. "Uh . . . first year ― you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who."

"But that was luck," said Harry, "it wasn't skill ―"

"Second year," Ron interrupted, "you killed the Basilsk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I —"

"Third year," said Ron, louder still, "you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-turner hadn't ―"

"Last year —" Ron began.

"Ron, shut up!" Fred snapped suddenly.

Ron looked affronted. "I'm just telling the truth."

"Yeah? Well think before you say anything else."

Ron got the point. He took one look at Harry, blanched, then turned away. "Sorry, mate."

"It's all right," Harry said. But it wasn't all right. "It's just . . . it wasn't like what you're saying at all, Ron. You have no idea what it's like to go up against him. None of you do. It's not just throwing spells, or the stupid duelling we'd done in second year. It's just you and your guts and your brains and luck, or whatever. It's you and him, and you know you're going to die if you don't fight back. And you have to, no matter what way you decide. Dodging and running always worked for me. Magic hardly came into it from my part."

They stared at him. Harry looked away. He hated being gawked at, but he knew they couldn't help it. He hadn't realised how passionate he would sound when he'd first begun to speak either.

Hermione cleared her throat. "But Harry, don't you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you . . . we need to know what it's really like . . . facing him . . . facing V-Voldemort."

Everyone but Harry had jumped. It was the first time she had used Voldemort's name. He found himself a little proud of her. "I'll think about it," he said finally.

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The rumour that had been making the rounds from classroom to classroom that Umbridge had somehow been turned into a toad by Harry during his detention was dispersed the following morning at breakfast as quickly as it had started. Umbridge was sitting in her usual spot beside McGonagall looking none the worse for wear, but seemed to be sporting a perpetually dark scowl every time she looked over at the Gryffindor table.

"She blames me," Harry told Ron and Hermione, and he couldn't be happier. "She doesn't know how I did it, but she knows I did."

"But, you didn't do it," Hermione pointed out.

"I know, but she thinks I did, and it's frustrating her that she can't work out how a fifth year learned such an advanced curse."

"What curse?" Ron echoed. "Even _you_ don't know what Elizabeth used."

"Yes," Harry agreed, "but it must have been horrible."

Nothing interesting happened in classes. Everyone had thought Umbridge would come to inspect McGonagall, but she didn't. They had progressed to vanishing kittens now, and only Hermione had completed the task and had moved on to vanishing larger animals and furniture.

Finally late afternoon came by and Harry found himself guessing the password to Dumbledore's office. After various failed attempts, "Nosebleed Nougat" admitted him.

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore to Harry's knock.

As he entered, he saw that Dumbledore was seated in his usual spot behind the desk. Various instruments of the curiously inclined also tinkered cheerily before him. Harry stared at them as he sat down. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, leaning forward so that he could twine his hands together on the desk. "I want to talk to you about Elizabeth."

"I guessed that."

Dumbledore smiled. "I shall be frank, Harry. I know she came to visit you a few mornings ago. I know she told you things. I know _you_ told her things."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened to Umbridge?" Harry guessed.

"Professor Umbridge, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.

"Right," said Harry, feeling annoyed.

Dumbledore looked up at him from under his glasses. He looked so long that Harry almost glanced away. "It should please you to note that you will not be going to the rest of your detention this week with Professor Umbridge. Or ever."

Harry arranged his face in what he hoped was an expression of polite inquiry.

"No need for that," Dumbledore said gently. "I have known Elizabeth quite a bit longer than you have, Harry. She has a tendency to act impulsively when those whom she loves are threatened."

Harry stared at his lap. His face turned hot. The guilty accusation in Dumbledore's eyes made his stomach drop.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harry?"

"I dunno," Harry mumbled. "I guess, I guess I felt like it was this personal war between her and me, and that by telling someone else it would have been―"

"Cowardly?"

Harry looked up. "I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd got to me. And she would have known if I'd told you or any of the other teachers."

"Pride. It has a way of changing matters," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. Then he became serious. "But you should know that what Delores Umbridge has done to you is illegal, and no matter if she is in Fudge's confidence or not, I would have dismissed her and started teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts myself."

"But if you'd done that, they would have chucked you out, right?"

"That is one possible scenario, yes. The most probable one, I must admit. But I shall tell you something now, Harry ― after what happened to you, I investigated. You were not the only one to whom she had assigned detentions for. You were not the only one who was forced to write lines. So, you see, it was not a personal war between the two of you at all, but a war between students and one teacher, with the students in the right. This, more than anything, is cause for dismissal."

That familiar feeling of frustrated hatred for Umbridge rose in Harry's stomach again. "I'm glad Elizabeth cursed her," he said vehemently.

"And you're certain she did not tell you how she would be doing it?" Dumbledore's eyes flitted between his own.

"Yes," Harry answered, assuming Professor McGonagall had told him all the details. "All she told me was that she was going to do something memorable ― and that I wouldn't have to go to detention again," he added extremely quickly.

Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I have always admired her gumption. That she would do this under my nose was very bold of her." He smiled. "I find myself feeling rather cheerful."

Harry grinned widely.

A comfortable silence passed. "Sir, _what_ did Elizabeth do?" Harry asked finally. He was beyond bursting with curiosity.

Dumbledore raised his brows and narrowed his head. "I shall leave it to you to discover that. You'll be seeing Elizabeth at Christmas, I presume. You can ask her then, Harry." Harry must have shown his disappointment, because Dumbledore smiled. "Go on to the Great Hall now, the house elves should be serving dinner soon. But before you do," he gestured to the small bowl sitting on the desk before Harry, "would you like a sweet?"

xxxxxxx

Two weeks past by with the feeling that time had seemed to slow down. Umbridge had, shockingly, decided to ignore Harry's existence completely. The only time she would look at him at all was in the Great Hall, and even then all she'd do was glare. It made Defence classes just that much more bearable. At the end of September Hogsmede Weekend arrived at last. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Hogs' Head Inn, watching the two dozen or so Hogwarts' students troll up the village in front of them, before dispersing in every which way direction. Harry's stomach did a black-flip when Cho waved goodbye at him over her shoulder.

"Well, that went all right, didn't it," Hermione said. Her voice sounded slightly high-pitched and she would not look at Harry.

"We all know that half of them only showed up to find out what happened with Voldemort last year, Hermione," Harry said. He was still faintly annoyed with her, but it was fading. Cho's acknowledgement had put him in a good mood.

"That Zachariah Smith is a real berk," Ron spat.

"I don't like him much, either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really ― Harry, what on earth!" Hermione said, because Harry had started dragging her and Ron into a nearby alley between two cottages.

He let them go when they all stood in the shadowy part. "It was Malfoy," Harry explained. He'd seen the familiar glint of sliver-blonde hair bobbing between Crabbe and Goyle in front of the entrance to Zonko's.

Ron looked incredulous. "Since when do we run away from Malfoy?"

"Since Fred and George accidentally set fire to him. In case you forgot, he blamed me for it. Every since then he's been trying to start fights with me. I don't need Snape breathing down my neck even more. He still thinks I stole those ingredients from his private stock."

A week ago at dinner, whilst George had been occupied in Snape's office, Fred had snuck over to the Slytherin table under Harry's invisibility cloak and placed a time stasis firework in what he'd thought was Crabbe's knapsack. The only problem being that it had turned out to be Malfoy's. Since Harry wasn't in the Great Hall at the time ― was, in fact, scribbling out his Charms essay in the library, which was due the next day ― Malfoy had concluded that it must have been him. Ever since third year and the incident in front of The Shrieking Shack, Harry had always suspected that Malfoy knew about his invisibility cloak. Still, Fred and George _could_ have picked a better time. But the twins, Ron had told him, lived by their own rules.

"Oh," Ron said.

"It looks like they've gone into Zonko's," said Hermione, who was peering around the corner of the alley wall. She turned back to them. "You two will have to duck under the invisibility cloak and walk into The Three Broomsticks that way. If you walk in as you are now, but don't walk out again, it'll be awkward trying to explain."

"Right," said Ron. "You ready, Harry?"

Harry stared at his best friend's face, and nodded.

Hermione looked between them, her eyes watering. "Good luck, you two."

"Thanks," they muttered awkwardly. Ron, Harry was sure, was relieved that Hermione hadn't hugged them, as she usually did when she got emotional.

Harry removed his father's cloak from under his robes, shook it out, and threw it over Ron and himself. Ron had to duck so that his feet didn't show. "Will you be all right?" Harry asked Hermione through the material. "I don't want you running into Malfoy when we're not here to protect you."

Hermione looked torn between being flattered at his concern, and annoyed in spite of it. "I'll be all right, I can look after myself. I saw Ginny enter Honeydukes. I'll go there. Do you have the list, Ron?"

Ron felt for his pocket. There was a crunching noise, like paper being squashed. "Yeah," he said.

"Good. Any idea when you'll be back?"

"I don't know, but don't wait for us," Harry told her. "You don't have to get in trouble as well if we're not back by curfew."

"All right," she agreed. "but I think you should go now ― it's really weird talking to you two like this."

"Bye," they chorused.

They left Hermione in the alley, manoeuvring around the dozens of milling people as they walked. It was extremely uncomfortable under the cloak, not at all like it was in first year. One person Ron's size would have been excessive, but two people was pushing it. It became difficult not to try and bump into people, or to even squash their own feet, and they had to wait until someone entered The Three Broomsticks before they could hurry in after them.

"Ow!" yelled Millicent Bulstrode, then looked widely around. She had been the person they'd followed in, but Ron had stepped on her foot. Whether by accident or purposely, Harry didn't know.

It would be too risky for them to use the public floo and hope not to be unnoticed. Hermione had suggested they enter one of the rooms upstairs instead. "After all," she had said, "The Three Broomsticks isn't just a pub, it's also an Inn. Like The Leaky Cauldron. The fireplaces up there are bound to be connected to the Floo network."

"You'd think they could make these cloaks expandable," Ron mumbled as they went up the stairs, slowly. He almost tripped over his large feet on the last step, but Harry quickly grabbed hold of his arm and yanked. "Thanks," Ron breathed.

"No problem."

The room admitted them after a hasty "Alohamora" by Ron, who, with his taller height, had seen an elderly witch shuffling in a like gait up the stairs behind them.

"Hopefully this isn't her room," Harry said.

They quickly made their way to the fireplace. Ron stuck his arm out from beneath the cloak and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece. He tossed it into the flames. They stepped in.

"Diagon Alley!" Harry said clearly.

In a whirling, nauseas whoosh the flames rose and they were gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They skidded out of the fireplace at Flourish and Blotts. The fireplace was in the furthest corner hidden behind a large bookshelf, which was good because Ron's entire right leg had flailed out from under the cloak for a good ten seconds before he managed to stuff it back.

The journey from Diagon Alley to Knockturn Alley was even worse than the one in Hogsmede. There were at least twice as many people rushing about. Ron said it was because the shopping hour had started. "It's only just turned two. It's the perfect time to go out for lunch as well."

Knockturn Alley was just as dark and creepy as Harry remembered it. Ron had never been there before, however, and at the first sight of a hag selling fingernails (the same one who had, in fact, tried to tempt Harry in his second year), he was so disgusted that he drew back violently and almost tripped over the cloak.

"Would you watch it?" Harry hissed at him.

"Yeah," he whispered back, "but it's a hag, Harry. I've never seen one before."

"I've met that one already," Harry said, only to regret it when Ron started wide-eyed at him. "What?"

"'I've met that one already?'" he snorted. "Really, Harry, you two are old chums, aren't you?"

"Oh shut up," Harry said, but he was trying not to smile. "Let's go there." He gestured to a small gap between two bins. "What's first on the list?"

The paper crinkled as Ron unpocketed it and smoothed it out on his palm. He stared at it. "I can't pronounce any of them," he concluded finally. "It's spelled in some other language. D'you reckon we should just hand it over the shop proprietor and let him get it for us? It'll be quicker that way, too."

Harry bit his lip. "I guess that's the best way to go. But you'll have to be the one to do it, Ron."

"I get it," said Ron nodding knowledgeably, "you might be recognised. You just stay under the cloak."

"All we have to do is find the potion shop now. It can't be that hard."

But Harry was wrong.

Knockturn Alley was a lot bigger than it seemed, and even had some smaller, slimier alleys sprouting from it. Ron swore he spotted a vampire in one of them slinking out of a small establishment, but when Harry whipped around to confirm if it was, it was already gone.

"This is bad," he mumbled to Ron. "Vampires have extremely good hearing and smell. We're lucky it didn't' realise where we were. We have to find the apothecary as quickly as possible and get out of here."

Ron quickly agreed.

They traipsed along Knockturn Alley, which sloped down gloomily, until they finally found the apothecary. It was the very last shop at the end, tucked beneath a cliff-like fissure of rock that hung over it like a knife. Checking to see that no one was about, Ron stepped out from underneath the cloak. "I feel weird," he whispered, "all exposed. I keep thinking something's going to attack me."

"Just go inside," Harry prodded, but he continued to glance around.

Squaring his shoulders, Ron opened the door. It tinkled morosely. He held it open a lot longer than was necessary so Harry could follow him through. When Ron shut the door behind him Harry just stopped himself from yelling. Ron wasn't so lucky. "Ahh!"

An old man, who'd obviously been lingering behind the open door, stood hunching before them. His hair was dark grey and stringy, hanging to his shoulders. His eyes were the very strange colour of purplish pink – a spell gone wrong, most likely – and something like a cross between a very large wart and a very ripe pimple hung off the end of his nose. When he breathed his chest rattled loudly, as though a never-ending cold had forced the mucus in his lungs to thicken over many years. As he exhaled the thing on the tip of his nose quivered disturbingly.

"Good afternoon," he rattled softly.

"Yeah," said Ron absently. He was still staring at the old man's nose.

"You might as well come out, I know you're there," said the old man, peering where Harry stood. "I saw the redhead come out from underneath the cloak earlier on.

Harry cursed himself for not looking to see if anyone had been watching from inside the shop, but there was no use procrastinating. He took off the invisibility cloak, making that sure his fringe covered his forehead.

The old man didn't appear to notice anything special about him. He simply "hmmed" interestedly, and walked two steps to the front counter, saying, "What can I help you gentlemen with?"

Harry nudged Ron when it looked as though he wouldn't answer. "Oh, erm, uh, we need these items here." He handed the list over.

The old man took it between his fingers as though handling a delicate object, and turned it this way and that. He looked slowly up at them. He wheezed out. The wart quivered. Ron stared.

"That'll be thirty-four galleons for the lot," he rattled at them. "Are you certain you gentlemen can afford this?" he asked, staring at Ron's robes, particularly the hem, which reached a few inches above his ankles.

Ron flushed.

"Yes," Harry cut in quickly. He unhooked the sack of galleons from his belt and counted out thirty-four gold coins, placing them on the desk as he did so.

The old man picked one of them up and bit into it. "Right," he said. Shuffling around them he walked to the large ceiling-high cabinets on the right side of the shop. He opened the door to one. Harry and Ron could see what appeared to be hundreds of small jars with many slimy bluppy floating things in them. The old man selected one with tentacles in it, then closed the cabinet door. He moved onto the next cabinet. When he opened that one they saw lots of sacks — big ones, little ones and ones made out of different materials. The old man grabbed two of these before closing the door. He shuffled back towards them and handed over the ingredients. "That's everything on the list, I believe," he rasped.

"That's great," said Harry. "We'll just, er, go then."

"Good afternoon," the old man said.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then walked out of the shop extremely quickly.

Ducking under the cloak once more, they jogged upslope along Knockturn Alley. It took them about five minutes. They were just about to pass Bourgin and Burkes, which stood about a hundred meters from the entrance of the alley, when Ron suddenly veered to the left, squishing first himself then yanking Harry into the gap between Bourgin and Burkes and another shop.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, heart thumping.

"Shh," Ron mouthed. "Vampire."

Feeling as though a particularly horrid fish was jumping about in his stomach, Harry did a slow turn around.

Ron had been right. It was a vampire. Similar in appearance, with its gaunt face and skeletal frame, to the vampires that Harry had met over the summer, except this one had mousy brown hair.

It had appeared out of the shadows of the smaller alley that branched off to the right. It, Harry realised chillingly, was sniffing interestedly at the air. It wasn't a human action.

Ron tapped him on the shoulder. When Harry turned to look at him he saw that Ron was holding up his, Harry's, wand. _He must have gotten out of my pocket_, Harry thought, before mouthing, "Thanks". He could see that Ron had taken his wand out too.

The vampire was now sniffing manically and staring at the ground. Any second it would pounce at them. Instinctively, Harry knew that they shouldn't be hiding in such a tight spot. When push came to shove (and it would) they'd be trapped with no room to manoeuvre (or run) if the situation called for it. He was about to suggest to Ron that they leap out and try to surprise the vampire, but he didn't get a chance.

Just as the vampire turned to stare at the tight gap they were hiding in a hand appeared out of nowhere and clamped onto its shoulder, spinning the vampire around so fast that Harry got dizzy watching it.

He had the brief thought that perhaps someone else was walking around Knockturn Alley under an invisibility cloak also so as to avoid all the nasty persons, but then he saw who the hand belonged to, and couldn't help gaping.

A very familiar, very tall and very handsome man with long shiny black hair that reached to his mid-back and unforgiving eyes of the same colour stood feet apart. He was dressed in muggle clothes of jeans and white-sleeved shirt, and Harry had to admit he looked rather intimidating. He was holding the vampire by the scruff of its neck, with its legs dangling a metre from the ground.

Harry had seen this man before, over the summer. Not personally, but Harry knew who he was because he recognised his face.

Elizabeth had shown him pictures of all the Slayers one night at Grimmauld Place when everyone else had been asleep. This man had been one of them. His name was Nauhel.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed behind him. He, too, was seeing the spectacle.

But there wasn't to be a spectacle. All Nauhel said was, "I've been looking for you," and sped away so fast that all Harry and Ron could see was a blur. He had taken the vampire with him."

"Did, did you see that, Harry? What d'you think he was? Another vampire? A vampire king, maybe? He was stronger than the other one."

Ron did not know about Nauhel. He and Hermione had both been told, by himself, that there were only three Slayers in the world, including Elizabeth. She would not appreciate him revealing Nauhel's secret now. "Yes," Harry said, "I think he was a vampire."

xxxxxxx

That night, listening to Ron snore in the bed next to his, Harry could not stop thinking about what he had seen. Why was Nauhel in England in the first place? His area to protect was Asia and Canada and some of North America. Had Elizabeth, perhaps, asked him to watch over Europe and Russia for her while she was on Dumbledore's mission with Hagrid? But no, that couldn't be right. After all, hadn't Elizabeth lived most of her life in Australia, with only once in a while coming to visit England? And besides, Elizabeth had said it herself; the world didn't need Slayers now as much as it had thousands of years ago. Wizards had advanced their magic to such a degree that they could take care of most of the problems themselves. But that left Harry right back where he'd started. Why was Nauhel here? It could be something as simple as him being on a holiday, Harry supposed, but somehow he didn't believe that.

After another fifteen minutes of this thinking, Harry drifted off in a fitful sleep, images of corridors with locked doors entering his head for the dozenth time.

xxxxxxxx


End file.
